THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


The  muzzle  of  the  rifle  was  turned  directly  toward  Frank,  and  the  redskin  was 
on  the  point  of  pressing  the  trigger. 

Page  98. 


Frank  Merriwell's  Brother 


OR 


The  Greatest  Triumph  of  All 


BY 

BURT  L  STANDISH 

AUTHOR  OF 

"Frank  Merrlwell'  School  Days,"  "  Frank  Merriwell's  Chums," 
"  Frank  Merriwell's  Foes,"  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA 

DAVID   McKAY,   PUBLISHER 

604-8  SOUTH  WASHINGTON  SQUARE 


Copyright,  1901 
By  STREET  &  SMITH 


Frank  Merriwell's  Brother 


AD  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign  language*, 
including  the  Scandinavian. 


FRANK  MERRIWELL'S  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A     WARM     RECEPTION. 

When  Frank  Merriwell,  in  a  great  hurry,  flung  open 
the  door  of  his  room  and  sprang  in,  he  was  little  pre 
pared  for  the  reception  that  followed. 

From  all  sides  they  leaped  upon  him,  clutched  him, 
surrounded  him,  hemmed  him  in.  There  were  exactly 
thirteen  of  them,  and  he  was  alone  and  unarmed. 

Never  before  had  Merriwell  quailed  in  the  face  of 
odds,  but  now  he  took  one  look  at  them  and  then  flung 
up  his  hands,  crying : 

"I  surrender!" 

They  clutched  those  uplifted  hands  and  dragged 
them  down.  They  grasped  him  about  the  body,  around 
the  neck,  anywhere,  everywhere.  Howls  of  joy  arose. 

"We've  got  you !"  they  yelled. 

Then  they  wrenched  at  his  hands,  one  after  another, 
as  if  trying  to  tear  his  arms  from  their  sockets.  Then 
they  thumped  him  on  the  back,  the  shoulders,  and  the 
chest. 


2035358 


6  A  Warm  Reception. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  attacking  mob  one  wild-eyed 
fellow  fought  like  a  demon  to  get  at  Merry. 

"Got  my  vay  oud  of !"  he  roared,  as  he  butted  into 
the  mob.  "Breakaway!  Let  me  got  ad  him!" 

"Git  aout!"  cried  another,  a  tall,  lank  chap,  as  he 
put  his  foot  against  the  fat  stomach  of  the  one  who 
was  fighting  to  reach  Merry.  "Go  lay  daown,  gol  ding 
ye!" 

"Give  me  a  cloob !"  roared  one  with  a  strong  brogue 
of  the  Ould  Sod.  "It's  mesilf  that'll  be  afther  makin' 
a  way  here!" 

Then  he  wedged  his  shoulder  into  the  crowd  and 
flung  the  others  aside  till  he  could  get  in  and  grasp 
Merry's  hand. 

"Ye  spalpane !"  he  shouted.  "It's  a  soight  fer  sore 
oies  ye  are!  Begorra,  Oi'm  ready  to  die  wid  joy!" 

"Barney  Mulloy !"  laughed  Frank,  as  he  wrung  the 
hand  of  the  honest  Irish  youth.  "I'm  delighted !" 

"Let  me  git  in  there!"  rasped  the  tall,  lank  fellow. 
"If  ye  don't  make  way  fer  me,  I'll  bet  a  darn  good 
squash  somebody  gits  bumped !" 

Then  he  succeeded  in  getting  hold  of  Merry's  free 
hand. 

"Oh,  say!"  he  cried;  "I'm  jest  reddy  to  lay  right 
daown  and  die  frum  satisfaction." 

"Ephraim  Gallup!"  burst  from  Merry. 

"Right  off  the  farm,  b'gosh !"  chuckled  Ephraim, 


A  Warm  Reception.  7 

"Vy  don't  you  both  gone  und  died  alretty!** 
squawked  the  one  who  had  been  kicked,  as  he  came 
charging  in  and  drove  against  Mulloy  and  Gallup. 
"Id  vould  peen  a  goot  thing  der  coundry  vor.  Yaw! 
I  vandt  to  shook  Vrank  Merrivell  by  my  handt !  Got 
avay !" 

"And  Hans  Dunnerwurst !"  exclaimed  Merriwell,  as 
he  grasped  the  outstretched,  pudgy  hand  of  the  fat 

young  Dutchman. 

"Dot  vos  me,"  nodded  Hans,  in  delight.  "How  you 
peen,  Vrankie,  ain't  id  ?  You  vos  glatness  to  seen  me. 
Yaw!" 

"You  fellows  give  me  that  fired  teeling — I  mean 
that  tired  feeling!"  declared  a  handsome,  curly-haired 
youth,  as  he  thrust  Mulloy,  Gallup,  and  Dunnerwurst 
aside.  "Why  don't  you  let  somebody  else  have  a  show? 
I  want  to  fake  his  shin — I  mean  shake  his  fin!" 

"It's  Harry  Rattleton!"  Frank  ejaculated,  as  he  re 
turned  the  hearty  hand-grip  of  the  curly-haired  youth. 
"Dear  old  Harry!" 

There  were  tears  in  Rattleton's  eyes,  and  his  honest 
face  showed  the  deep  emotion  he  felt  and  tried  to 
hide. 

Fighting,  squealing,  kicking  at  each  other,  two  little 
fellows  now  plunged  against  Rattleton.  One  was  red 
headed  and  freckle- faced,  while  the  other  had  a  snub 


8  A  Warm  Reception. 

nose  and  a  cherublike  face.  But  they  seemed  trying 
to  scratch  out  each  other's  eyes. 

"Me  first !"  yelled  the  cherub. 

"I  guess  nit!"  shrieked  the  one  with  freckles. 

"Here!  here!  that  will  do!"  smiled  Merry,  as  he 
grasped  them  and  pulled  them  apart.  "It  -seems  to  me 
you  chaps  are  old  enough  to  quit  fighting  like  kids." 

Then  they  both  turned  and  seized  his  hands,  which' 
they  wrung  with  all  the  strength  at  their  command, 
yelling : 

"How  are  you,  Merry?    We're  glad  you  see  us!" 
"The  same  Stubbs  and  the  same  Griswold,"  nodded 
Frank. 

"The  same  Merriwell!"  they  returned,  in  unison. 
"Only  more  famous !" 

"I  reckon  it's  my  turn  to  shake  Mr.  Merriwell's 
paw,"  said  a  strong,  hearty  voice,  as  a  big,  broad- 
shouldered  youth  put  Bink  and  Danny  aside,  "That's 
whatever !" 

"Badger,  too !"  Frank  cried,  as  his  hand  met  that  of 
the  Westerner.  "This  is  untold  pleasure !" 

"You  bet  it  is!"  nodded  Buck. 

"I  trust  you'll  not  overlook  me,  Merriwell,"  said  a 
pleasant,  soft,  well-modulated  voice,  as  a  handsome, 
fine- faced  youth  stepped  in,  with  an  agreeable  smile 
and  a  white  hand  outheld. 


A  Warm  Reception.  9 

"Jack  Diamond,  by  all  that's  good!"  Merriwell 
gasped,  as  he  took  that  hand.  "Back  from  Europe?" 

"Yes,  Merriwell;  back  in  time  to  see  you  win  your 
final  honors." 

The  handsome  Virginian  looked  handsomer  than 
ever. 

Greg  Carker,  Bert  Dashleigh,  Jim  Hooker,  Ralph 
Bingham,  and  Oil  Packard  were  the  others  who  had 
crowded  about  Merry  when  he  entered  the  room,  and 
they  were  filled  with  great  joy  because  of  his  pleasure 
in  meeting  those  old  friends  of  other  days. 

"You'll  have  to  have  us  arrested  for  breaking  and 
entering,  Merry,"  said  Carker.  "I  knew  these  fellows 
were  going  to  be  here,  and  we  planned  this  little  sur 
prise.  I  swiped  your  duplicate  door-key  so  that  I  could 
admit  them  to  this  room." 

"I'll  forgive  you,  Carker,  if  you  do  not  let  the  earth 
quake  rumble." 

"I  think,"  said  Greg,  "that  I'll  keep  the  earthquake 
suppressed  till  commencement  is  over." 

"Do,"  urged  Frank. 

Oliver  Packard  did  not  have  much  to  say.  He  had 
been  accepted  as  one  of  Merry's  friends,  for  all  of  his 
vicious  brother,  Roland,  the  twin  who  looked — or  had 
looked  in  the  past — exactly  like  him.  Oliver  had  all 
the  fine  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  and  the  conduct  of 


lo  A  Warm  Reception. 

Roland  had  worn  upon  him  and  given  him  lines  of 
care.  It  was  now  known  among  the  students  that, 
since  his  final  defeat  by  Merriwell,  Roland  was  fast 
becoming  an  inebriate,  and  it  was  said  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  finish  his  medical  course.  Of  course,  this 
worried  Oliver,  but  he  tried  to  hide  his  own  troubles. 

Hooker,  once  an  outcast,  was  another  who  had  re 
ceived  a  warm  hand-grasp  from  Merriwell  and  had 
felt  in  his  heart  that  he  was  most  fortunate  to  be 
there. 

Ralph  Bingham,  the  big  sophomore,  had  taken  part 
in  the  struggle,  his  heart  throbbing  with  satisfaction. 

"There  are  others  coming,"  he  now  declared.  "All 
the  rest  of  the  flock  will  be  here  right  away." 

"You  mean " 

"Hodge,  Ready,  Gamp,  Browning,  and  the  others." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Badger,  "I  reckon  we'd  better 
bring  forward  the  reserves  at  once." 

"The  reserves?"  said  Merry. 

"Yes.    Ladies." 

Buck  flung  back  a  portiere,  and  then  out  flitted  four 
beautiful  girls,  who  had  been  waiting  for  that  mo 
ment. 

Elsie  was  there,  laughing  with  joy,  her  sweet  face 
jlushed,  her  blue  eyes  like  the  depths  of  a  lake-mirrored 
sky.  The  girl  with  Elsie  put  her  forward,  and  it  was 
Elsie  who  murmured  in  Merry's  ear: 


A  Warm  Reception.  u 

"Frank,  we're  all  so  happy  and  so  proud  of  you! 
Inza  is  the  happiest  and  proudest !" 

"Inza!"  exclaimed  Frank,  in  great  surprise,  for  he 
had  not  dreamed  of  seeing  her  there,  for  she  was  in 
mourning  for  her  fatter. 

"Frank!" 

He  looked  deep  into  her  dark  eyes,  which  gazed 
upon  him  in  loving  pride. 

"This,"  he  said,  restraining  himself  and  steadying 
his  voice,  "is  a  pleasure  that  was  entirely  unex 
pected." 

He  gave  Elsie  his  other  hand. 

"We  rather  reckoned  you'd  be  pleased,"  said  Badger. 
"But  I  don't  want  you  to  forget  that  the  former  Miss 
Lee  is  now  Mrs.  Badger,  and  I'll  not  permit  you  to 
look  at  her  the  way  you're  looking  at  those  young 
ladies." 

Frank  flushed  and  laughed,  turning  to  the  handsome, 
brown-eyed  girl  at  the  side  of  the  Westerner. 

"Miss  Lee — no,  Mrs.  Badger,"  he  said,  "I  am  de 
lighted  to  see  you  again." 

Winnie  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Don't  mind  Buck,"  she  said.  "He's  jealous  of 
everybody.  He'd  be  jealous  of  an  Indian." 

"That's  whatever,"  confessed  the  Kansan.  "I  allow 
I'm  built  that  way,  and  I  can't  help  it.  I  know  I  make 
an  onery  fool  of  myself  sometimes,  but  Mrs.  Badger 


12  A  Warm  Reception. 

has  a  nice  little  way  of  forgiving  me.  I  rather  triinE 
she  likes  it,  to  tell  the  truth." 

Diamond  touched  Frank's  arm.  There  was  a  look 
of  deep  pride  on  his  face,  mingled  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Permit  me,"  he  said. 

Merry  turned. 

"My  wife,  Mr.  Merriwell,"  said  the  Southerner. 

A  handsome,  dark-eyed  girl,  somewhat  resembling 
Inza,  stood  there. 

"Your — your  wife?"  exclaimed  Frank. 

The  girl  was  the  sister  of  Dolph  Reynolds,  whom  he 
had  met  in  London. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Jack.  "We  didn't  invite  you  to  the 
wedding,  as  it  took  place  rather  suddenly  on  the  other 
side  of  the  pond.  I  hope  you'll  pardon  us  for  the 
failure  to  notify  you,  but  we  decided  to  do  so  in  per 
son." 

"Diamond,"  said  Frank  heartily,  as  he  grasped  the 
hand  of  his  college  comrade,  "I  offer  you  my  most 
sincere  congratulations.  I  think  you  are  a  lucky 
dog." 

The  English  girl  was  blushing  and  laughing. 

"You  do  not  congratulate  me,"  she  said.  "And  you 
know  I  had  to  make  an  explanation  before  he  would 
come  back  to  me  after  he  became  jealous  of  my 
cousin." 

"I'll  reserve  my  congratulations,"  said  Merry  smi- 


A  Warm  Reception.  13 

lingly,  "till  I  find  that  he  has  made  you  a  good  hus 
band." 

"Merriwell,  I  think  that  right  mean  of  you!"  Dia 
mond  exclaimed,  somewhat  nettled.  "Your  words  and 
manner  are  calculated  to  arouse  distrust  and  suspicion 
in  her  mind.  Do  you  think  that  quite  fair  ?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  confessed  Frank,  seeing  how  se 
riously  Jack  took  it.  "Far  be  it  from  me  to  arouse 
anything  of  the  sort  by  words  spoken  in  jest." 

The  Virginian  breathed  easier. 

"Now  we're  so  nicely  introduced  all  round,  let's  try 
to  be  real  jappy  and  holly — I  mean  happy  and  jolly," 
said  Harry  Rattleton.  "Hasn't  any  girl  married  me 
yet?" 

"I  see/*  said  Bink  Stubbs,  "that  idiocy  among  the 
female  sex  is  decreasing." 

"There  are  ladies  present,"  said  Harry  severely,  as 
he  glared  at  Bink.  "Thus  you  are  saved  for  the  time." 

"Here !"  cried  Griswold,  taking  down  a  gilded  horse 
shoe  from  the  wall  and  offering  it  to  the  other  little 
chap.  "Take  it.  You're  dead  in  luck." 

Stubbs  regarded  the  horseshoe  doubtfully. 

"Do  you  regard  horseshoes  as  lucky?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then,"  said  Bink,  "the  horse  I  bet  on  the  last  time 
was  running  barefooted.  Quck,  cluck;  git  ap!" 

"Bah !"  retorted  Danny.    "A  clean  swipe  out  of  the 


14  A  Warm  Reception. 

comic  column  of  some  paper.  Say,  who's  your  favorite 
nrriter,  anyhow?" 

"My  father." 

"Your  father?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  he  ever  write?" 

"Checks." 

"They're  off!"  exclaimed  Rattleton.  "You  can't 
stop  them." 

"You  know  you  can  always  stop  a  river  by  damming 
it,"  grinned  Bink. 

"But  you  can't  stop  an  alarm-clock  that  way," 
chipped  in  Danny. 

"That  will  do!"  said  Frank  severely,  although  he 
was  laughing  inwardly.  "This  occasion  is  not  suited 
for  such  stale  jokes." 

"Stale!"  said  Danny. 

"Stale!"  echoed  Bink. 

"And  they  are  the  very  best  in  our  repertoire,"  de 
clared  the  little  red-headed  chap. 

"Then  your  repertoire  needs  replenishing,"  said 
Merry. 

So  the  little  jokers  were  repressed  for  the  time,  al 
though  they  were  sure  to  break  out  again  and  again 
at  the  slightest  provocation,  or  without  any  provoca 
tion. 

"What  makes  us  feel  real  bad,"  said  Diamond,  "is 


A  Warm  Reception.  15 

that  we  were  unable  to  get  along  soon  enough  to  wit 
ness  the  great  ball-game  to-day  between  Yale  and  Har 
vard.  I  felt  sure  Yale  would  win." 

"Merriwell  won  the  game  himself,"  declared  Oliver 
Packard,  who  had  once  played  on  the  nine,  but  whose 
standing  as  an  athlete  and  whose  chance  to  take  part 
in  athletic  sports  had  been  ruined  by  the  actions  of  his 
brother.  "It  was  the  greatest  work  I  ever  saw." 

"Right!"  agreed  Carker,  the  socialist,  also  a  ball 
player  of  no  mean  caliber.  "The  manner  in  which  he 
stopped  Harvard  from  scoring  near  the  end  of  the 
game  was  enough  to  set  every  Yale  man  wild  with  ad 
miration.  It  was  great!" 

"Great !"  nodded  Jim  Hooker. 

"Magnificent !"  laughed  Bert  Dashleigh. 

"Hot  stuff!"  nodded  Ralph  Bingham. 

Rattleton,  Stubbs,  Griswold,  Gallup,  Dunnerwurst, 
and  Mulloy  had  reached  the  field  after  the  game  began, 
but  in  the  vast  throng  they  had  been  unobserved  by 
Merry.  All  were  profuse  in  their  compliments  for 
Frank,  but  he  cut  them  short. 

"Every  man  on  the  nine  played  as  if  his  life  de 
pended  on  the  result,"  he  declared.  "They  deserve  just 
as  much  credit  as  I  do." 

But  not  one  who  had  seen  the  game  would  agree  to 
that. 

While  they  were  talking,  the  door  opened,  and  Bart 


\6  A  Warm  Reception. 

Hodge  entered,  followed  by  Browning,  Ready,  Mason, 
Carson,  Morgan,  Starbright,  Gamp,  and  Benson. 

The  principal  members  of  the  varsity  nine,  the  one& 
who  had  been  mainly  responsible  for  the  winning  of 
the  championship,  had  come  to  that  room  to  gather 
round  their  captain  for  the  last  time  before  the  part 
ing  that  might  break  their  ranks  forever. 

Of  course,  they  were  surprised,  and,  of  course,  there 
was  more  hand-shaking  and  introducing  of  Mrs.  Dia 
mond.  The  Virginian  was  showered  with  congratu 
lations. 

Jack  Ready  stood  and  looked  at  Juliet  with  an  ex 
pression  of  regretful  sadness  on  his  face. 

"It's  too  bad !"  he  finally  sighed. 

"What's  too  bad,  Mr.  Ready?"  she  asked,  in  sur 
prise. 

"That  we  did  not  meet  before  this  hot-headed  young 
man  from  the  warm  and  reckless  South  drifted  across 
your  horizon.  Alas,  you  are  no  longer  a  lass!  It  is 
too  late,  too  late !" 

He  seemed  to  heave  a  great  sob  from  the  depths  of 
his  bosom. 

"Sir!"  exclaimed  Diamond,  "what  do  you  mean? 
Are  you  seeking  to  insult  me  ?" 

"Nay,  nay,  my  dear  old  college  chum,"  said  Ready, 
!who  really  took  extreme  delight  in  irritating  Diamond. 
"Far  be  it  from  me  to  indulge  in  such  rudeness.  Still 


A  Warm  Reception.  17 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  would  not  have  stood 
a  ghost  of  a  show  had  I  happened  along  in  advance  of 
you.  I  would  have  dawned  on  her  delighted  vision 
like  a  ten-thousand-dollar  diamond  sunburst,  while  you 
would  have  resembled  a  two-dollar  rhinestone  cluster. 
I  have  no  desire  to  cause  you  misery,  so  I  shall  take 
care  not  to  let  her  see  much  of  me,  well  knowing  it  will 
lead  her  in  time  to  regret  her  choice  of  a  side  partner 
if  she  often  beholds  my  intellectual  countenance  and 
fascinating  figure." 

Juliet  bit  her  lip  and  suppressed  a  laugh,  but  Dia 
mond,  knowing  Ready  was  guying  him,  felt  like  hit 
ting  him. 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  you,"  whispered  the  South 
erner,  "that  the  ladies  are  here." 

"How?" 

"If  they  were  not,  I'd  give  you  a  black  eye!" 

"Go  'way!"  said  Ready.  "I  think  you're  hor 
rid!" 

Frank's  rooms  were  crowded  now,  and  a  chatter  of 
conversation  arose.  Of  course,  Merry  was  the  cen 
ter  of  interest,  but  he  found  an  opportunity  to  draw 
back  and  look  around.  These  were  the  loyal  friends 
he  had  made — the  dear  friends  of  his  school  and  col 
lege  days.  They  had  clung  to  him  through  thick  and 
thin,  and  he  felt  his  heart  swelling  with  affection  to 
ward  them  all.  Even  Dade  Morgan  was  included,  for 


i8  A  Warm  Reception. 

Morgan  had  tried  his  best  in  these  final  college  days 
to  prove  that  he  was  repentant  for  the  past  and  ready 
to  do  anything  in  his  power  to  make  atonement 

Memories  of  old  times  came  rushing  upon  Frank  in 
that  moment.  He  thought  of  his  first  meeting  with 
Hodge  at  Fardale,  and  of  the  adventures,  struggles, 
and  triumphs  that  followed.  He  thought  of  his  com 
ing  to  Yale,  of  his  freshman  struggles,  of  the  enemies 
who  seemed  to  rise  around  him  as  he  toiled  upward 
and  onward,  of  the  friends  who  were  here  and  who 
had  remained  firm  in  every  change  that  befell  him. 

Oh,  those  grand  days  of  toil  and  pleasure  at  Yale! 
He  felt  that  he  would  give  much  to  live  them  all  over 
again.  But  the  end  had  come,  and  now  he  was  going 
out  into  the  world — going  to  bid  Yale  farewell! 

This  thought  brought  him  a  feeling  of  unspeakable 
sadness.  It  seemed  that  he  was  leaving  the  only  home 
he  knew.  Home — yes,  it  was  home  for  him.  In  truth, 
he:  had  no  other.  Life  lay  before  him,  and  he  was  to 
set  his  course  toward  a  high  goal  when  he  received  his 
sheepskin  and  turned  his  back  on  his  alma  mater.  But 
he  felt  that  he  was  being-  parted  from  the  happiest 
portion  of  his  life. 

Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  girls.  Bart  had  found  Elsie 
and  was  talking  to  her,  his  dark  face  flushed,  his  eyes 
glowing.  She  smiled  and  nodded  as  he  was  speak 
ing. 


A  Warm  Reception.  19 

"They  are  happy,"  said  Frank,  to  himself. 

He  did  not  know  that  at  that  moment  Hodge  was 
praising  him  to  the  skies,  telling  what  a  remarkable 
game  he  had  played  and  how  he  had  covered  himself 
with  glory  in  the  battle  against  Harvard.  He  did  not 
know  that  somehow  such  praise  was  the  pleasantest 
thing  Elsie  Bellwood  could  hear. 

He  saw  Inza,  and  she  looked  toward  him.  She 
smiled,  and  he  felt  his  heart  throb. 

Home !  Yes,  Yale  had  been  his  home ;  but  now  be 
fore  his  vision  there  seemed  to  rise  the  picture  of  an 
other  home  and  he  hastened  to  Inza's  side. 


CHAPTER  II. 

1ANTON     MESCAL. 

A  dark-faced,  Spanish-appearing  man  stoppeS 
Roland  Packard  on  the  steps  of  the  Tontine  Hotel. 

"Get  out  of  the  way !"  snarled  Roland,  who  had  been 
drinking. 

"Wait,"  said  the  man,  in  a  soft,  not  unpleasant 
voice.  "I  wish  to  speak  to  you.  It  is  important." 

Roland  was  in  anything  but  a  pleasant  mood.  He 
had  seen  Frank  Merriwell  cover  himself  with  glory 
in  the  game  against  Harvard,  and,  having  foolishly 
bet  that  the  Cambridge  men  would  win  the  champion 
ship,  he  had  taken  to  drink  immediately  after  the 
game. 

"It's  got  to  be  cursed  important !"  he  snapped,  look 
ing  the  stranger  over.  "I  don't  know  you.  What's 
your  name?" 

"Anton  Mescal." 

"Nevef  heard  it  before.  Are  you  one  of  these 
blooming  old  grads  who  are  overrunning  the  town?" 

"No." 

"Then  what  in  blazes " 

A  group  of  men  came  out  of  the  hotel  and  de 
scended  the  steps.  They  had  gray  hair  about  their 


Anton  Mescal.  21 

temples,  and  some  of  them  were  bald  beneatH  their 
hats.  They  carried  canes,  their  faces  were  flushed, 
and  they  looked  hilariously  happy.  They  were  a  group 
of  "old  grads,"  and  they  had  been  celebrating  Yale's 
victory.  With  them  the  celebration  had  just  begun; 
it  would  extend  all  through  the  night.  As  they  rolled 
down  the  steps,  clinging  to  one  another's  arms,  they 
were  talking  excitedly : 

"He's  the  greatest  pitcher  Yale  ever  produced!"  as 
serted  one. 

"Come  off,  Smithy,  old  man !"  cried  another.  "You 
know  the  class  of  'Umpty-six  had  the  champ.  This  fel 
low " 

"Don't  talk,  Sluthers!"  interrupted  another.  "Base 
ball  was  different  then.  Whoever  heard  of  curves? 
This  Merriwell " 

"Is  a  marvel!" 

"He's  a  dandy!" 

"'Rah  for  Merriwell !" 

"Let's  all  cheer!  Yow!  I  feel  just  like  cheering! 
Cheer  for  Merriwell !" 

Then  they  bumped  against  Roland  Packard,  who 
snarled  at  them.  One  of  them  grasped  him;  others 
followed  the  example  of  that  one.  They  bore  him 
down  the  steps  to  the  sidewalk. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  the  grad  who  had 
grasped  him  first  demanded.  "Are  you  a  sorehead? 


22  Anton  Mescal. 

Well,  by  thunder,  I  want  to  hear  you  cheer  for  Merri- 
well!" 

"You'll  want  a  long  time!"  declared  Roland,  sav 
agely.  "Let  go  of  my  collar!" 

"Boys,"  said  the  old  fellow  fiercely,  "here's  a  chap 
iwho  won't  cheer  for  Merriwell." 

"Shoot  him!"  advised  another,  who  was  rather  un 
steady  on  his  feet.  "Don't  bother  with  him!  Shoot 
him  on  the  spot,  Bilton !" 

"What  spot?"  asked  Bilton. 

"Any  old  spot." 

"All  right,"  said  the  one  who  had  Roland  by  the 
collar,  "I'll  do  it." 

He  was  just  intoxicated  enough  to  be  reckless,  and 
he  actually  took  a  revolver  out  of  his  hip  pocket. 

"Brought  this  to  celebrate  with,"  he  declared. 
"Loaded  it  for  that  purpose;  but  I  guess  Til  shoot  this 
fellow." 

Then  he  fired  straight  at  Roland's  breast. 

Packard  fell  back  with  a  gasping  cry,  and  the  dark- 
faced  man  caught  him.  The  other  old  grads  were  ap 
palled  by  the  act  of  their  companion,  who  himself 
was  rather  dazed,  not  having  intended  to  fire  the  re 
volver  ;  but  he  quickly  recovered,  saying : 

"He  isn't  hurt,  gentlemen!  The  danged  thing  is 
loaded  with  blanks." 


Anton  Mescal.  23 

Packard  threatened  to  call  for  the  police,  not  one  of 
whom  happened  to  be  near. 

Not  wishing  to  get  into  trouble  on  account  of  the 
reckless  act  of  their  companion,  the  old  grads  ha 
stened  away. 

Anton  Mescal,  the  man  with  the  dark  face,  laughed 
a  little,  as  he  said : 

"Is  this  the  East?  Why,  I  didn't  suppose  men  were 
so  careless  with  their  guns  here.  For  a  moment  I 
fancied  I  must  be  at  home." 

Packard  swore. 

"Infernal  old  fools!"  he  muttered.  "I'm  going  to 
follow  and  have  them  arrested  1  I'll  put  that  drunken 
idiot  in  the  jug  for  this!  Why,  he  would  have  shot 
me  dead  if  the  thing  had  been  loaded  with  a  ball  car 
tridge!" 

"Better  let  them  go,"  urged  Mescal.  "I  want  to 
talk  with  you  about  something  important." 

"But  I  don't  know  you." 

"I  introduced  myself  just  before  those  men  at 
tempted  to  stampede  us." 

Packard  seemed  in  doubt  He  wanted  to  follow  and 
make  trouble  for  the  man  who  had  been  so  reckless 
v/ith  his  revolver,  and  yet  something  was  urging  him 
to  listen  to  the  stranger,  who  claimed  to  have  impor 
tant  business  with  him. 


24  Anton  Mescal. 

"If  we  stay  here,"  he  said,  "we'll  get  bumped  into 
again  by  these  gray-haired  Yale  men  of  other  days." 

"Yet  I  must  stay  here.  Let's  get  off  the  steps,  where 
we  can  watch  both  entrances.  I  am  not  going  to  be 
given  the  slip  again." 

"What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"Something  I  will  explain  if  you  prove  to  be  the  mam 
I  think  you  are." 

"You  are  from  the  West  ?" 

"That's  right,  partner.    Come  down  here." 

They  moved  aside  on  the  walk,  where  they  took 
pains  to  avoid  the  groups  of  hilarious  men  who  were 
circulating  in  that  vicinity. 

"You  do  not  like  Merriwell,"  said  the  man  who 
called  himself  Mescal.  "You  refused  to  cheer  for 
him,  even  when  that  man  drew  a  gun  on  you." 

"I  didn't  suppose  the  howling  chump  was  crazy 
enough  to  shoot." 

"Still  you  refused  to  cheer  for  Merriwell,  and 
everybody  else  is  howling  for  him." 

"What  of  that?"  asked  Packard  suspiciously. 
"Haven't  I  got  a  right  to  refuse?" 

"Of  course.  The  very  fact  that  you  did  refuse  con 
vinced  me  that  I  had  made  no  mistake  in  my  man.  You 
dislike  Merriwell,  when  everybody  else  seems  wild 
about  him.  You  seem  to  be  his  only  enemy  here." 


Anton  Mescal.  25 

"That's  right.  There  were  enough  of  them  once, 
but  I'm  the  only  one  left." 

"What  has  become  of  them  all  ?" 

"He  has  triumphed  over  them,  and  they  have  bowed 
down  to  worship  him.  They  are  howling  themselves 
hoarse  over  him  to-night." 

"You  mean " 

"They  have  become  his  friends,  or  else  they  have 
been  driven  out  of  college." 

"How  does  it  happen  that  you  have  not  suc 
cumbed  ?" 

"Because  I  will  not!"  panted  Roland  fiercely. 

"He  has  never  defeated  you?" 

Packard  hesitated  about  answering,  for  he  knew 
that  in  everything  that  had  brought  about  a  con 
test  between  himself  and  Merriwell  the  latter  had 
been  victorious. 

"Only  temporarily,"  he  asserted.    "I  never  give  up.'* 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Mescal.  "I  am  more  than  ever 
satisfied  that  you  are  the  very  man  I  want." 

Packard  now  demanded  a  full  explanation.  His 
curiosity  had  been  awakened.  Still  Mescal,  the  soft- 
spoken  man  from  the  West,  was  rather  cautious. 

"Would  you  like  to  strike  Merriwell  a  last  blow?" 
he  asked. 

"Would  I?"  said  the  medic.    "Ask  me!" 

For  a  moment  the  Westerner  knitted  his  brows. 


26  Anton  Mescal. 

He  had  asked  Packard,  and  the  slang  of  the  East 
bothered  him.  But  the  expression  on  Packard's  face 
demonstrated  his  meaning,  and  Anton  Mescal  nodded. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said.  "I  may  be  able  to  give 
you  the  opportunity." 

"But  you  have  not  explained,"  insisted  Roland. 

"I  will.    It  takes  a  little  time." 

"Then  let's  go  in  here  and  get  a  drink.  I'm  dry 
and  tired." 

Mescal  shook  his  head,  grasping  the  student  by  the 
arm. 

"Stay  here,"  he  directed.  "It  is  necessary  if  you 
wish  to  strike  Merriwell." 

This  surprised  Roland. 

"What  are  you  coming  at?"  he  growled.  "Think 
I'm  going  to  hit  him  with  my  fist?" 

"No.  I  am  watching  for  a  man  who  is  in  that 
hotel.  I  must  not  miss  that  man  when  he  comes 
out" 

"How  is  he  connected?" 

"I  have  followed  him  pretty  nearly  three  thousand 
miles,  trying  to  watch  him  night  and  day.  Four  times 
he  has  given  me  the  slip,  and  four  times  I  have  picked 
up  his  trail  again.  I  have  tried  in  every  possible  way 
to  accomplish  my  purpose  before  he  could  reach  this 
place,  but  thus  far  I  have  failed." 


Anton  Mescal.  27 

This  was  interesting,  and  yet  Packard  failed  to  see 
how  it  was  related  to  Merriwell. 

"I'll  explain,"  said  the  Westerner.  "This  man  191 
the  bearer  of  an  important  message  to  Frank  Mer 
riwell." 

"Ah!  that's  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  can't  9top  him  now  unless  you  kidnap 
Or  kill  him."  ' 

"I  don't  want  to  stop  him." 

"What,  then?" 

"I  want  to  get  hold  of  that  message." 

"You  wish  to  know  what  it  is?" 

"I  know  now." 

"Hey?  Then  why  do  you  wish  to  get  hold  of  it? 
Why  the  dickens  have  you  put  yourself  to  so  much 
trouble?" 

"Because  I  do  not  wish  it  to  reach  the  hands  of 
Merriwell." 

"The  bearer " 

"Hasn't  the  least  idea  what  the  message  is." 

"Oh-ho!" 

"He  is  simply  a  messenger — nothing  more.  He 
has  been  instructed  to  deliver  an  oilskin  envelope 
to  Merriwell.  He  knows  absolutely  nothing  of  the 
contents  of  that  envelope.  If  he  were  to  lose  it,  he 
would  fail  utterly  in  his  task." 


28  Anton  Mescal. 

Packard  nedded,  and  made  a  motion  for  the  man 
to  go  on. 

"This  message,"  said  Mescal,  "is  of  the  utmost  im 
portance  to  Merriwell.  It  will  do  him  great  damage 
not  to  receive  it.  Get  it  and  place  it  in  my  hands,  and 
you  will  strike  Merriwell  a  terrible  blow.  Besides 
that,  I  will  give  you  five  hundred  dollars  in  cold 
cash." 

"Five  hundred  dollars?"  gasped  Packard  doubt- 
ingly. 

"Just  that.  I  mean  it,  and  here  is  the  money,  to 
convince  you  that  I  can  keep  my  word." 

The  Westerner  displayed  a  roll  of  bills,  the  out 
side  one  being  for  the  amount  of  five  hundred  dol 
lars. 

Now,  Roland  Packard  was  involved  in  debt,  and 
knew  not  how  to  clear  himself.  Of  a  sudden,  he 
fancied  he  saw  a  way  to  wipe  out  his  debts  and  strike 
a  blow  at  Merriwell  at  the  same  time,  and  his  blood 
shot  eyes  shone  greedily. 

"How  am  I  to  do  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"That  is  for  you  to  settle." 

"You  mean  that " 

"That  you  are  to  find  a  way.  I  am  at  the  end  of 
my  resources,  else  I  would  not  have  applied  to  you.  It 
was  by  chance  that  I  heard  you  spoken  of  as  the  only 
enemy  of  Merriwell  remaining  in  Yale,  and  it  was  by 


Anton  Mescal.  29 

chance — a  lucky  one — that  you  happened  along  and 
were  pointed  out.  I  lost  no  time  in  stopping  you  right 
here,  hoping  you  might  be  the  man  to  do  this  work." 

"I'll  do  it  if  possible;  but  how  is  it  to  be  done?" 

"Again  I  say  that  is  something  for  you  to  find  out. 
I  will  point  out  to  you  the  man  who  has  the  mes 
sage,  and  you  are  to  follow  him  and  get  it  if  you 
can.  If  you  succeed,  the  money  is  yours  the  mo 
ment  you  place  that  oilskin  envelope  in  my  hands. 
Are  you  ready  to  try  it?" 

"You  bet!     When " 

"Now!"  whispered  Mescal,  as  he  stepped  behind 
Packard,  so  that  the  student  was  between  him  and 
a  man  who  was  descending  the  steps  of  the  Tontine. 
"There  goes  the  man  with  the  message!" 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  MESSAGE. 

The  man  with  the  message  was  smooth-faced  and 
shrewd-appearing.  He  stepped  out  from  the  Tontine 
briskly.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain  gray  suit  of 
clothes. 

"After  him!"  whispered  Mescal.  "He  has  the  mes 
sage  !  Get  it  somehow — anyhow !  Get  it  before  Mer- 
riwell  reads  it!" 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  promised  Packard.  "Where'll 
I  find  you?" 

"Here— at  this  hotel." 

Without  another  word,  Roland  Packard  started 
after  the  man  in  gray.  Up  Chapel  Street  went  the 
man,  with  Roland  not  far  behind. 

The  student  was  trying  to  think  of  some  way  to  se 
cure  the  message.  He  was  desperate,  and  desperate 
schemes  flitted  through  his  brain.  He  thought  of  at 
tacking  the  man  on  the  street  and  trying  to  go  through 
his  pockets;  but  New  Haven  was  thronged  with  vis 
itors,  old  and  young,  and  Packard  found  no  op 
portunity,  knowing  full  well  that  all  chances  of  suc 
cess  were  against  him.  Desperate  though  he  was.  he 
had  no  relish  for  arrest  on  the  charge  of  assault  and 


The  Mysterious  Message.  31 

robbery.  But  Roland's  eyes  were  open,  and  he  was 
on  the  watch  for  an  opportunity.  Still,  something  told 
him  that  the  man  was  going  directly  to  Merriwell,  and 
he  felt  that  his  show  of  accomplishing  his  purpose  was 
becoming  smaller  with  every  step. 

Already  preparations  were  being  made  for  a  hi 
larious  time  in  the  vicinity  of  Osborne  Hall  that  night. 
Packard  knew  there  would  be  speeches,  cheering,  red 
fire,  and  all  that,  but  he  gave  it  no  thought  now. 

"All  New  Haven  has  gone  daffy  over  Merriwell!" 
he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  heard  Frank's  name 
spoken  many  times  by  passing  men.  "Anybody  would 
think  there  was  nothing  else  to  talk  of!  Merriwell 
eclipses  class  day,  senior  prom,  graduation,  everything. 
Oh,  if  I  could  get  a  last  crack  at  him  right  in  the 
height  of  his  glory !  And  to  make  five  hundred  plunks 
at  the  same  time,  I  must  do  it  somehow !" 

But  how? — that  was  the  question.  He  ground  his 
teeth  as  he  saw  his  chances  diminishing.  The  campus 
was  reached,  and  the  man  in  gray  made  directly  for 
Vanderbilt. 

"Going  straight  to  Merriwell's  room !"  thought  Ro 
land.  "Perhaps  I'll  have  a  chance  on  the  stairs." 

No  one  paid  much  attention  to  Packard.  Every 
body  seemed  hilariously  happy.  He  was  close  behind 
the  bearer  of  the  message  when  that  individual  entered 
Vanderbilt;  but  the  opportunity  did  not  come.  It 


32  The  Mysterious  Message. 

seemed  tHat  a  perfect  stream  of  men  was  making  for 
Merriwell's  room  or  coming  from  it. 

"Just  pouring  congratulations  on  him,"  said  the 
medic.  "Oh,  he's  the  king-pin  here!" 

He  saw  the  messenger  reach  the  door  of  Frank's 
room,  which  was  standing  wide  open.  Within  that 
room  there  seemed  to  be  a  mass  of  happy  students. 

"No  use!"  grated  Packard.  "I  didn't  get  a  chance!" 

Just  then  Oliver  Packard  and  Hock  Mason  came 
out  and  descended  the  stairs.  Neither  of  them  ob 
served  Roland. 

"He  has  been  there,"  muttered  Merry's  enemy,  look 
ing  after  his  twin  brother,  whom  he  so  closely  re 
sembled  in  outward  appearance,  although  otherwise 
there  was  not  the  slightest  similarity. 

Then  a  sudden  thought  came  to  him.  In  the  past 
he  had  been  mistaken  for  Oliver  a  score  of  times,  and 
again  he  might  perpetrate  the  deception.  No  one 
would  expect  him  to  boldly  enter  Merriwell's  room. 
If  any  one  had  observed  the  departure  of  Oliver,  it 
might  be  fancied  that  Oliver  had  returned,  if  Roland 
were  seen. 

"I'll  do  it!"  he  muttered,  and  he  boldly  followed 
the  messenger  into  the  room. 

He  saw  Frank  in  the  midst  of  his  friends.  He  would 
have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  win  such  homage 
from  that  admiring  throng.  Yet  he  could  not  help 


The  Mysterious  Message.  33 

seeing  that  Frank  Merriwell  bore  himself  with  perfect 
modesty,  as  if  feeling-  himself  no  better  than  his  hum 
blest  friend.  Merry's  position  was  most  difficult,  and 
only  a  man  of  remarkable  tact  could  have  filled  it 
without  seeming  to  pose.  It  was  this  atmosphere  main 
tained  by  Frank  at  all  times  that  had  made  him  so 
popular.  He  did  not  betray  exaltation,  and  yet  in  no 
way  did  he  lower  himself  by  his  quiet,  unaffected  man 
ners. 

The  man  in  gray  slowly  pushed  forward  till  he 
could  touch  Frank's  arm.  In  a  moment  when  Merry 
was  not  engaged,  the  stranger  spoke,  saying: 

"Mr.  Merriwell,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  bothering 
you  now,  but  my  business  is  most  important.  I  will 
trouble  you  only  a  minute,  if  you  will  kindly  step 
aside." 

Frank  was  surprised,  but  his  courtesy  was  suffi 
cient  to  enable  him  to  betray  it  only  by  a  slight  lifting 
of  the  eyebrows.  Then  he  excused  himself  to  those 
immediately  about  him  and  stepped  apart  with  the 
man. 

"I  would  not  have  bothered  you  now,"  said  the 
stranger,  "but  I  am  the  bearer  of  an  important  mes 
sage  to  you,  and  I  wish  to  get  it  out  of  my  hands 
without  delay,  as  there  is  danger  that  I  may  lose  it. 
I  shall  not  feel  easy  till  I  have  turned  it  over  to  you, 
when  my  task  will  be  completed." 


34  The  Mysterious  Message. 

"A  message?"  said  Frank.     "From  whom?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  know  nothing,  save  that  I  have 
been  paid  a  large  sum  of  money  to  bring  it  to  you,  and 
to  guard  it  with  my  life  till  it  is  in  your  hands." 

Such  a  statement  as  this  was  calculated  to  arouse 
interest. 

"And  you  do  not  know  whom  the  message  is 
from?" 

"I  do  not.  It  was  not  my  place  to  make  inquiries. 
5\11 1  know  is  that  I  have  been  pursued  from  Colorado 
to  this  city  by  a  man  who  has  seemed  determined  t» 
rob  me  of  it." 

This  added  to  the  interest. 

"But  he  did  not  succeed?" 

''•No,  sir.  I  am  here,  and  I  have  the  message,  whicfi 
I  will  now  hand  over  to  you." 

From  an  inner  pocket  the  man  took  an  oilskin  en 
velope,  which  he  gave  to  Frank,  who  looked  at  it 
curiously.  On  the  envelope  were  traced  these  words : 

"To  Frank  Harrison  Merriwell;  not  to  be  opened 
until  the  day  after  he  graduates  from  Yale." 

The  moment  Frank  saw  that  writing,  which  was 
wavering  and  unsteady,  he  uttered  a  little  exclamation, 
his  face  paling. 

"It's  from  my  father!"  he  murmured.  "I  wonder 
what  it  can  be!" 


The  Mysterious  Message.  35 

The  messenger  now  presented  a  receipt  for  Franlc 
to  sign,  having  produced  a  fountain  pen. 

Merry  signed  the  receipt,  although  for  some  rea 
son  which  he  himself  did  not  fully  understand  his 
hand  was  not  as  steady  as  usual. 

"There,"  said  the  man,  "I  thank  goodness  that  my 
task  is  accomplished!" 

"Who  gave  you  this?"  asked  Franlc. 

"My  chief." 

"Your  chief?    You  mean " 

"I  am  in  the  employ  of  the  Great  Western  De 
tective  Agency,  of  Denver,  and  my  chief  placed  this 
in  my  hands.  He  stated  that  I  was  to  receive  two 
thousand  dollars  if  I  delivered  it  into  your  hands. 
He  had  been  asked  to  name  a  man  who  was  reliable, 
and  I  was  chosen.  The  man  who  sent  the  message 
nxed  the  remuneration  I  was  to  receive.  What  he 
paid  the  chief  I  do  not  know." 

Strange  thoughts  ran  riot  in  Frank's  brain.  He 
had  not  heard  from  his  father  for  some  time,  and  he 
had  not  seen  Mr.  Merriwell  since  they  parted  in 
Florida.  The  last  letter  had  assured  Frank  that  his  fa 
ther  was  safe  and  comfortable,  and,  knowing  the  pe 
culiarities  of  the  man,  he  had  not  worried  much  for 
all  of  the  period  of  silence.  But  now  something  told 
Merry  that  strange  things  were  soon  to  happen. 


36  The  Mysterious  Message. 

"You  have  performed  your  duty  well,"  said  Merry, 
as  he  returned  the  pen  to  the  man  in  gray. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  stranger  quietly.  "And  now 
I  will  bid  you  good-by." 

Then  he  quietly  departed,  leaving  the  mysterious 
message,  and  Frank  stood  there  studying  the  oilskin 
envelope,  wondering  what  it  contained.  For  the  time 
he  forgot  his  surroundings,  forgot  the  friends  who 
were  present,  forgot  the  triumphs  of  the  day,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  vain  speculation. 

His  father  was  a  most  mysterious  man,  seldom 
doing  anything  in  a  conventional  manner.  Yet  some 
how  it  seemed  to  Merry  that  this  did  not  account  for 
the  care  and  expense  to  which  Mr.  Merriwell  had  gone 
in  order  to  have  the  message  safely  delivered  into  the 
hands  of  his  son. 

Of  course  Frank  had  no  thought  of  opening  that 
envelope  before  the  time  set — the  day  after  gradu- 
tion.  He  wondered  if  it  could  be  that  the  envelope 
contained  a  check  for  a  large  sum  of  money  which  he 
was  to  use  in  starting  out  in  a  business  career.  Any 
how,  it  was  certain,  Merry  thought,  that  the  contents 
must  be  valuable. 

He  was  not  aware  of  a  pair  of  greedy  eyes  fastened 
upon  him.  He  was  not  aware  of  a  person  who  movec 
cautiously  toward  him  without  attracting  attention. 

Roland  Packard  was  desperate.     The  message  had 


The  Mysterious  Message.  37 

Been  delivered,  but  as  yet  Merriwell  knew  nothing  of 
Its  import  Packard  reasoned  that  this  was  his  last 
chance  to  earn  that  alluring  five  hundred  dollars. 

Reaching  a  favorable  position,  Roland  glanced 
round  toward  the  door,  observing  that,  for  the  pres 
ent,  the  coast  was  clear. 

Then  he  turned,  and,  like  a  flash,  his  hand  went  out, 
his  fingers  closing  on  the  envelope,  which  was  snatched 
from  Merriwell's  grasp. 

Without  a  word,  without  a  sound,  the  desperate 
student  leaped  toward  the  door. 

Merry,  who  had  thought  himself  surrounded  by 
friends,  who  to  the  last  man  were  constant  and  true, 
had  been  taken  utterly  by  surprise,  but  he  quickly  re 
covered. 

"Stop,  Packard!" 

With  that  cry,  he  sprang  after  Roland,  who  was 
vanishing  through  the  door.  In  a  moment  there  was 
great  excitement  in  the  room. 

Hans  Dunnerwurst  had  seen  the  envelope  snatched 
from  Merry's  fingers,  and  he  tried  to  overtake  Roland, 
shouting : 

"Come  away  back  mit  dot!  Id  dit  nod  belonging 
to  you!" 

In  his  rush  for  the  door  he  collided  with  Ephraim 
Gallup,  who  likewise  had  leaped  after  the  thief,  and 


}8  The  Mysterious  Message. 

they  went  down  heavily  in  the  doorway,  locked  fast 
in  each  other's  arms. 

"Gol  ding  a  fool !"  spluttered  the  youth  from  Ver 
mont. 

Merry  was  compelled  to  leap  over  them  both,  which 
he  did,  dashing  out  after  Packard.  Half-way  down 
the  stairs  Frank  clutched  Oliver,  who  was  calmly  re 
turning  to  Merry's  room. 

"Give  it  up!"  commanded  Merry  sternly. 

Oliver  was  astounded. 

"Give  what  up?"  he  asked. 

"The  message." 

"What  message?" 

"You  know.  This  is  no  time  for  joking,  and  it  is 
a  very  poor  joke,  at  best." 

"Joke?"  said  Oliver  wonderingly.  "What  are  you 
talking  about,  Merriwell?  I  know  nothing  of  any 
joke." 

Frank  held  him  off  and  looked  at  him  sternly. 
Merry's  friends  were  swarming  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs. 

"Frank's  got  him !"  they  cried. 

"Yaw !"  shouted  Hans  Dunnerwurst.  "Dot  vos  der 
lobsder  vot  didded  id !  Holdt  him  onto,  Vrankie !" 

"Shut  yeour  maouth,  yeou  dinged  Dutch  chump!" 
came  from  Gallup.  "Yeou  come  nigh  fixin'  it  so  he 
couldn't  git  him." 


The  Mysterious  Message.  39 

"EoigEt  ye  are,  Gallup,  me  bhoy,"  put  in  Mulloy. 
"Thot  Dutch  chaze  is  foriver  in  th'  way." 

To  the  eyes  of  Merry  the  look  of  amazement  on 
Oliver  Packard's  face  seemed  genuine. 

"What  has  happened?"  Oliver  asked.  "I  heard  the 
sudden  commotion,  and  then  you  came  leaping  down 
here  at  me." 

"Make  him  give  it  up,  Merry!"  cried  the  students 
above. 

"I've  got  nothing  to  give  up,"  protested  Oliver,  his 
face,  which  had  turned  pale,  now  flushing  hotly. 
"What  do  they  mean?" 

Frank  Merriwell  was  doing  some  swift  thinking 
just  then.  He  had  not  seen  Oliver  leave  the  room  in 
company  with  Hock  Mason,  and  he  had  not  observed 
Roland's  face  fairly  as  the  latter  whirled  with  the 
snatched  envelope  in  his  grasp;  but  he  realized  that 
Oliver's  actions  in  the  past  had  stamped  him  as  in 
no  respect  likely  to  perpetrate  such  a  trick,  while  it 
was  very  much  like  his  brother. 

But  it  did  not  seem  that  Roland  had  been  in  the 
room.  That  he  would  dare  come  there  in  the  midst  of 
Merry's  friends  seemed  utterly  beyond  reason,  and 
not  worthy  of  consideration.  Yet  Frank  asked  Oliver 
a  question: 

"Where  is  Roland?" 

Again  Oliver's  face  paled. 


40  The  Mysterious  Message. 

"Roland?"  he  said     "I  don't  know." 

"Didn't  he  pass  you  just  now  on  these  stairs?*1 

"He  did  not." 

Frank's  face  was  hard  and  grim, 

"Come  up  to  my  room,"  he  commanded. 

Oliver  did  not  demur.  He  saw  Frank's  friends  re 
garding  him  with  looks  of  accusation,  but,  knowing 
he  was  not  guilty  of  any  wrong-doing,  he  quietly  as 
cended  the  stairs  and  entered  Merriwell's  room. 

At  that  moment,  panting,  yet  trying  to  still  his 
breathing  and  his  thumping  heart,  Roland  Packard 
was  listening  behind  the  closed  door  of  another  room 
near  Merriwell's,  into  which  he  had  darted.  He  had 
seen  the  door  slightly  ajar,  and  had  leaped  in  there  as 
he  fled  with  the  stolen  message. 

As  Oliver,  surrounded  by  Frank's  friends,  entered 
Merriwell's  room,  Roland  opened  the  door  the  least 
bit  and  cautiously  peered  out.  His  ears  had  told  him 
something  of  the  truth,  and  he  chuckled  to  think  that 
his  brother  had  appeared  just  in  time  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  pursuers. 

"He's  all  right,"  thought  the  young  scoundrel.  "And 
he  turned  up  at  just  the  right  moment  to  divert  sus 
picion  from  me  long  enough  for  me  to  get  away.  My 
last  blow  at  Merriwell  will  be  effective,  and  I'll  make 
a  ten-strike  at  the  same  time." 

He  saw  Merriwell's  door  closed  by  some  one  who 


The  Mysterious  Message.  41 

meant  to  make  sure  that  the  captured  suspect  should 
not  break  away  and  escape.  Then  Roland  stole  swiftly 
out  from  the  room  and  hastened  down  the  stairs, 
chuckling  with  evil  triumph. 

Oliver  Packard  was  in  a  bad  scrape,  and  somehow 
his  face  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  felt  guilt.  Still  he 
persisted  in  being  told  what  had  happened.  When  he 
heard  the  story,  he  firmly  said : 

"This  is  a  mistake,  Merriwell — I  swear  it!  I  left 
this  room  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  ago  in  company  with 
Hock  Mason,  as  I  can  prove.  I  left  Mason  outside 
and  came  back.  I  was  just  in  time  for  you  to  rush 
out  and  grasp  me  on  the  stairs.  This  is  the  truth,  as 
Heaven  hears  me!" 

There  were  murmurs  of  doubt  on  all  sides.  Many 
of  Merry's  friends  had  never  trusted  Oliver  fully,  be 
ing  inclined  to  judge  him  by  the  conduct  of  his  brother. 
Some  of  them  had  remonstrated  with  Frank  for  his 
friendliness  with  Oliver.  These  were  the  ones  who 
now  muttered  their  incredulity  on  listening  to  the 
words  of  the  suspected  student. 

Oliver  turned  pale  as  he  heard  that  muttering. 

"Search  him!"  said  somebody. 

"Search  him!"  was  the  cry. 

"Yes,  search  me!"  panted  Oliver.  "I  demand  to  be 
searched !" 

"No,"  said  Frank,  as  his  hand  fell  on  Oliver's  shoul- 


42  The  Mysterious  Message. 

ier.  "I  believe  you!  I  am  satisfied  that  you  speaK 
the  truth.  It  is  a  mistake." 

"But  we  saw  him  with  the  envelope  in  his  hand," 
said  Dade  Morgan. 

"It  was  not  I !"  asserted  Oliver. 

"No,  it  was  not  you,"  agreed  Merriwell,  "but  it 
was  one  who  hates  me  and  who  looks  so  much  like 
you  that  we  were  all  deceived." 

"My  brother!"  muttered  Oliver  huskily. 

"It  must  have  been,"  nodded  Frank.  "He  has  stolen 
that  message,  which  is  of  great  value  to  me." 

"Merriwell,"  exclaimed  Oliver  Packard  excitedly, 
"I'll  recover  the  message  for  you!  Tru&t  me  to  get 
it.  I  will  restore  it  to  you,  if  I  live !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FALSE   MESSAGE. 

Roland  Packard  was  exultant  as  he  hastily  left 
Vanderbilt.  Safe  in  his  pocket  was  the  precious  mes 
sage. 

"I  have  it!  I  have  it!"  he  laughed,  as  he  hastened 
away.  "Oh,  that  was  a  piece  of  luck!  Let  Oil  fight 
it  out  with  them.  He'll  get  off  somehow,  and  they 
never  can  prove  I  did  it." 

He  seemed  utterly  regardless  of  the  shame  and  hu 
miliation  he  had  cast  upon  his  brother  by  his  rascally 
act.  Having  sunk  lower  and  lower,  Roland's  con 
science  no  longer  gave  him  much  trouble,  no  matter 
what  he  did. 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  he  muttered.  "All  mine! 
That  will  clear  me  of  every  debt." 

He  was  hastening  to  find  Anton  Mescal,  when,  of 
a  sudden,  he  stopped. 

"If  that  man  is  willing  to  pay  five  hundred  dollars 
for  this  message  the  old  envelope  must  contain  some 
thing  of  great  importance." 

That  set  him  to  thinking,  and  soon  he  softly  ex 
claimed  : 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  is  in  that  envelope!     It 


44  The  False  Message. 

might  be  worth  much  more  than  five  hundred  dollars 
to  me." 

He  was  on  Chapel  Street,  opposite  the  green. 
Glancing  around  to  make  sure  he  was  not  watched, 
he  took  the  envelope  from  his  pocket  and  examined  it. 

"Sealed!"  he  muttered,  in  disappointment.  "Too 
bad !  But  for  that,  I  might " 

He  grew  silent,  examining  the  seal. 

"This  is  luck!"  he  finally  laughed.  "The  seal  was 
struck  with  a  ring  made  to  represent  the  symbol  of 
one  of  the  old  freshman  societies.  The  man  who 
struck  that  seal  may  have  received  the  ring  from  Mer- 
riwell  himself.  I  know  where  to  find  another  ring  ex 
actly  like  that." 

Packard  thrust  the  envelope  into  his  pocket  and  ha 
stened  straight  to  a  jeweler's  shop,  where  he  soon  pur 
chased  a  ring  which  he  knew  would  strike  a  seal  ex 
actly  like  the  one  on  the  envelope. 

From  the  jeweler's  store  he  went  to  a  stationer's, 
where  he  purchased  a  stick  of  sealing-wax  like  the  wax 
used  on  the  oilskin  envelope. 

Then  came  the  hardest  thing  to  obtain,  an  envelope 
like  the  one  in  his  pocket;  but,  after  much  search, 
Packard  secured  just  what  he  wanted. 

"Now,  I  am  going  to  know  what  the  message  is!" 
he  exulted. 


The  False  Message.  45 

At  first  he  started  for  his  own  room,  but  he  did 
not  go  far. 

"Oliver  may  be  there,"  he  thought,  "or  he  may 
come  before  the  job  is  done.  I  must  not  go  there." 

In  a  moment  he  thought  of  a  place,  and  then  he  pro 
ceeded  straight  to  a  little  club-room,  where  some  of 
the  reckless  Yale  men  often  gathered  to  play  cards. 

The  club-room  was  deserted  now,  as  everybody 
seemed  out  to  take  part  in  the  gay  time  that  night. 
Roland  knew  there  was  little  danger  that  he  would 
be  disturbed,  for  it  was  not  probable  that  any  Yale 
man  would  care  to  play  cards  on  such  a  night. 

The  place  had  been  lighted  by  ordinary  kerosene- 
lamps,  and  Roland  had  one  of  these  burning  in  short 
order.  Then  he  set  to  work  to  open  the  envelope.  At 
first  his  hands  trembled,  which  caused  him  to  stop 
and  wait  for  his  nerves  to  become  steadier.  He  took 
a  silver  flask  from  his  pocket,  unscrewed  the  cap,  and 
drank  from  it. 

"There!"  he  said;  "that  will  fix  me." 

Slowly  and  cautiously  he  worked  with  his  knife, 
removing  the  seal  from  the  envelope.  When  this  was 
done  he  found  some  trouble  in  opening  the  flap  with 
out  leaving  a  trace,  but  the  task  was  accomplished  at 
last. 

"Now !"  he  exclaimed,  his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes 


46  The  False  Message. 

gleaming,  "we'll  see  what  this  great  message  is  a!' 
about!" 

From  the  envelope  he  took  several  sheets  of  parch - 
mentlike  paper,  which  were  covered  with  writing.  Then, 
by  the  light  of  the  lamp,  he  settled  himself  to  read 
the  message  that  had  never  been  intended  for  other 
eyes  than  those  of  Frank  Merriwell. 

As  Packward  read  he  showed  signs  of  surprise.  At 
first  he  whistled  softly,  then  he  uttered  an  exclama 
tion,  and  at  last  he  exclaimed  aloud : 

"Well,  by  Jove!  this  is  interesting!" 

When  he  had  finished  reading,  he  started  up,  ex 
claiming: 

"Frank  Merriwell's  fate  is  in  my  hands !  Almighty 
goodness!  What  a  ten-strike!  With  the  aid  of  this 
I  can  turn  him  out  into  the  world  a  pauper!  Roland 
Packard,  this  is  the  greatest  piece  of  work  you  ever 
did.  Five  hundred  dollars!  Why,  this  is  worth  five 
million  dollars!" 

He  was  wildly  excited,  and  could  hardly  repress 
wild  shouts  of  joy.  Indeed,  he  executed  a  savage  dance 
of  exultation. 

"At  last!"  he  panted.  "Now  I  am  able  to  obtain 
revenge  for  every  injury  Merriwell  has  done  me!  Oh, 
but  my  revenge  will  be  a  sweet  one !" 

The  rascal  was  so  excited  and  interested  that  he 


The  False  Message.  47 

again  read  the  wonderful  message  from  beginning  to 
end. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "to  fool  Mescal  first.  He  must 
pay  me  the  five  hundred,  for  I  need  it." 

There  was  some  writing-paper  on  a  table  near.  He 
took  several  sheets,  folded  them,  and  thrust  them  into 
the  envelope  from  which  the  message  had  been  re 
moved.  Then  he  stuck  down  the  flap  with  care  and 
brought  out  his  sealing-wax  and  the  ring  he  had 
purchased. 

Removing  the  chimney  from  the  lamp,  he  heated 
the  wax  in  the  flame  and  dropped  it  on  exactly  the 
spot  where  the  original  seal  had  been.  At  the  proper 
time  he  pressed  the  ring  on  the  wax,  and  an  exact 
reproduction  of  the  first  seal  was  made. 

Packard  surveyed  his  work  with  pride,  examining 
it  closely  to  see  if  a  casual  observer  could  detect  that 
the  envelope  had  been  tampered  with. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  decided.  "I'll  defy  anybody  to 
tell  that  it  has  been  opened.  Oh,  I'm  a  clever  devil! 
Mr.  Merriwell  is  in  the  midst  of  his  glory  now,  but 
he  shall  go  out  from  Yale  a  beggar!  If  he  only 
knew!  Some  time  he  shall  know.  When  it  is  too 
late,  I'll  tell  him  all,  and  that  shall  be  my  triumph." 

Then  he  set  about  fixing  the  other  envelope,  into 
which  he  placed  the  message,  sticking  down  the  flap 
and  putting  on  the  seal. 


48  The  False  Message. 

"All  that  is  necessary  is  to  soil  it  a  little,"  he  said. 
"Then  it  will  be  exactly  like  the  original.  No — by 
George,  no!" 

He  had  turned  the  original  envelope  and  seen  the 
writing  upon  it. 

"Well,"  muttered  the  fellow,  after  a  few  moments. 
"I'm  rather  clever  at  imitating  handwriting,  so  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do  in  this  case." 

Finding  pen  and  ink,  he  set  about  the  task.  At  first 
he  imitated  on  a  sheet  of  paper  the  writing  on  the 
original  envelope.  The  first  trial  was  not  perfectly 
satisfactory,  so  he  made  another  attempt. 

"There,"  he  said,  as  he  examined  it,  "if  I  can  do  as 
well  as  that  on  the  envelope  it  will  be  a  first-class 
job." 

Without  delay  he  set  at  work  on  the  envelope, 
and  the  result  was  greatly  to  his  liking. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  decided,  as  he  blotted  it.  "I  be 
lieve  it  would  fool  Merriwell  himself." 

He  destroyed  the  sheet  on  which  he  had  been 
practising,  and  then  placed  the  envelope  containing 
the  message  in  his  pocket,  where  it  would  be  safe. 

"Now  to  get  the  five  hundred!"  he  laughed,  as  he 
picked  up  the  other  envelope.  "Hamlet's  ghost!  but 
won't  Mr.  Anton  Mescal  be  hot  under  the  collar  when 
he  opens  this  and  finds  nothing  but  blank  paper  in  it !" 

There  was  a  slight  sound  at  the  door.    A  key  turned 


The  False  Message.  49 

in  the  lock,  and  Packard  leaped  to  his  feet,  turning  in 
time  to  see  the  door  swing  open.  Quick  as  a  flash,  he 
thrust  the  envelope  into  his  pocket. 

Oliver  Packard  stepped  into  the  room. 

"You?"  exclaimed  Roland. 

"Yes!"  said  Oliver. 

He  stepped  in,  closed  the  door,  and  locked  it. 

"Why  the  devil  are  you  here?"  snarled  Roland. 

"To  find  you,"  said  Oliver  quietly. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"I  want  that  message." 

"What  message?" 

"The  one  you  snatched  from  Merriwell." 

"What  ails  you  ?     Are  you  nutty  ?" 

"Hand  it  over!"  commanded  Oliver. 

"You  go  die!"  sneered  Roland.     "You're  silly." 

"I  am  here  to  take  it,  and  I  shall,"  declared  Oliver^ 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

"What  did  you  put  in  your  pocket  just  as  I  en 
tered?" 

"None  of  your  business!" 

"I  know  what  it  was." 

"Then  if  you  know  so  much,  why  do  you  ask  me  if1 

"It  was  the  message/' 

"What  are  you  giving  me  about  a  message?" 

"It's  no  use  to  play  innocent  with  me,  Roll." 

Roland  uttered  a  savage  exclamation. 


5o  The  False  Message. 

"You  get  out  of  here !"  he  cried,  taking  a  step. 

Oliver  did  not  stir. 

"I'll  go  when  you  give  me  what  I  am  after,"  he 
said. 

"I'll  give  it  to  you — in  the  neck !" 

"Roll,"  said  Oliver  quietly,  "y°u  can>t  Wuff  me-  * 
know  you  snatched  a  message  from  Frank  Merriwell's 
hand  to-night,  and  you  have  it  with  you.  I  was  ac 
cused,  but  Merriwell  believed  me  on  my  word  of 
honor." 

"That's  more  than  he  would  me,"  said  Roland,  with 
a  harsh  laugh. 

"You  have  only  yourself  to  blame  if  no  one  will 
believe  your  word  of  honor,"  said  Oliver. 

"Sermon,  is  it?"  cried  the  other.  "You're  always 
preaching  nowadays,  Oil." 

"It's  no  sermon  now,  for  I  have  no  time  to  waste." 

"I'm  glad  of  it     Get  out  and  let  me  alone," 

"I  shall  not  go  till  I  get  what  I  came  for.  I  will 
clear  myself  of  suspicion,  and  I  will  restore  to  Mer 
riwell  what  rightfully  belongs  to  him." 

"You've  tackled  a  big  job." 

"I  shall  do  it." 

"How?" 

"Somehow — anyhow.  You  have  disgraced  me  time 
and  again,  Roll,  and  I  have  stood  it  for  mother's  sake. 
She  loves  you  more  than  she  does  me,  and  " 


The  False  Message.  51 

"Ofi,  cut  it  out !     You've  told  me  this  before." 

"But  for  me  you  would  have  broken  her  heart  al 
ready." 

"Good  little  Oliver!  he  was  his  mammy's  precious 
boy !"  mocked  Roll.  "Oh,  you  make  me  sick !" 

"You  know  what  I  say  is  true.  But  for  me  you 
would  have  been  expelled  in  disgrace  before  this.  I 
have  saved  you  when  Frank  Merriwell  was  ready  to 
punish  you  for  your  wrong-doing.  How  have  you  re 
paid  me!  To-day  you  have  done  something  that  has 
filled  me  with  intense  shame  and  humiliation.  Yet  I 
do  not  believe  you  care  a  snap." 

"What's  the  use?" 

"Ingrate!"  panted  Oliver,  aroused. 

"Bah !"  returned  the  other,  snapping  his  fingers. 

Oil  advanced  into  the  room,  his  eyes  flashing. 

"Before  this  I  have  shouldered  the  blame  that  you 
should  have  taken,"  he  cried.  "Your  actions  have 
caused  me  to  be  dropped  by  my  best  friends,  with  the 
exception  of  Merriwell.  Your  actions  caused  me  to 
lose  my  chance  of  making  the  nine  again  this  year.  I 
have  endured  all  that  I  can.  The  limit  is  reached." 

"Now  what?" 

"I'm  going  to  cut  clear  from  you." 

"I'm  glad  of  it!" 

"But  first  I  am  going  to  restore  that  stolen  message 
to  Merriwell." 


52  The  False  Message. 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  go  ahead." 

Roland  was  defiant. 

"Give  it  to  me!"  panted  Oliver,  his  hands  clenched, 
while  he  trembled  in  every  limb.  "I  demand  it !" 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  demand.     You  won't  get  it." 

"You  can't  get  out  without  giving  it  to  me,  Roll," 
asserted  Oliver  grimly,  as  he  now  advanced  uoon  his 
brother. 

"What  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  do?"  de 
manded  the  young  rascal.  "Don't  make  an  idiot  of 
yourself!" 

Oliver  clutched  his  brother  by  the  collar. 

"Give  it  up!"  he  commanded.  "I'll  take  it  if  I  have 
to  strip  your  clothes  off  to  do  so." 

Roland  laughed  defiantly.  Then  he  suddenly  broke 
Oliver's  hold  and  struck  the  hand  of  his  brother 
aside. 

A  moment  later  Oliver  flew  at  Roland  with  terrible 
fury,  grasping  him  by  the  throat. 

Then  began  a  desperate  encounter  between  the  broth 
ers.  Roland  found  Oliver  desperate  and  determined. 
For  at  least  ten  minutes  they  fought,  and  at  last  Oliver 
had  thrown  his  brother  to  the  floor  and  pinned  him 
there.  Then  he  thrust  his  hand  into  Roland's  pocket 


The  False  Message.  53 

and  drew  out  the  envelope  that  the  youthful  villain 
had  prepared  to  deceive  Anton  Mescal. 

"I  have  it!"  exclaimed  Oliver  triumphantly. 

"Well,  keep  it!"  grated  Roland,  inwardly  delighted 
over  the  fact  that  the  message  was  safe  and  Oliver 
was  deceived.  "Let  me  up!  You  ought  to  be  satis 
fied." 

Having  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  Oliver  quickly 
leaped  to  his  feet  and  backed  away,  saying: 

"I  am  satisfied  in  getting  the  message,  but  I'd  had 
it  even  though  you  had  forced  me  to  kill  you!" 

"You're  a  nice  one!"  snapped  Roland,  sitting  up. 
"You're  a  fine  brother  to  have!" 

"I  can  return  the  compliment  with  interest.  But 
never  again  will  I  shoulder  any  of  your  wrong-doing, 
Roland.  If  you  get  into  a  bad  scrape  in  the  future 
through  your  actions,  you  must  not  look  to  me  for 
assistance." 

"Oh,  I  won't!  Don't  worry  about  that.  After  to 
night  we  are  no  longer  brothers !  You  are  my  enemy !" 

"I  have  been  your  best  friend.  You  have  made 
your  choice  by  your  conduct." 

Oliver  had  retreated  to  the  door,  still  watching 
Roland,  who  now  laughed  and  said: 

"Get  out  if  you  want  to;  I  sha'n't  try  to  stop  you. 
I'll  not  fight  again  over  that  old  message.  I  don't 
believe  it  amounts  to  anything,  anyhow." 


54  The  False  Message. 

Oliver  unlocked  the  door  cautiously,  for  he  did  not 
trust  Roland,  even  then. 

"I  shall  tell  Merriwell  the  truth,"  he  said,  "and  I 
shall  not  ask  him  to  let  you  off  without  punishment, 
as  I  have  in  the  past.  He  may  punish  you  or  not,  as 
he  chooses.  If  he  does  not,  it  will  be  because  he  is 
the  soul  of  generosity." 

Then  he  opened  the  door  and  disappeared  quickly, 
closing  it  behind  him. 

Roland  Packard  laughed  in  noiseless  triumph. 

"Go  it,  you  fool!"  he  whispered.  "I  have  the  mes 
sage,  and  you  have  nothing  but  an  envelope  containing 
a  lot  of  blank  paper.  I'd  like  to  see  Merriwell's  face 
when  he  opens  that  envelope!" 


CHAPTER  V. 

CELEBRATION  OF  THE  OLD  GRABS. 

The  celebration  was  in  progress.  Frank  Merriwell, 
with  Inza  Burrage  at  his  side,  was  watching  the  fun 
from  Vanderbilt.  Frank's  heart  was  troubled  be 
cause  of  the  loss  of  the  message,  but  his  face  was 
smiling. 

The  class  of  'Umpty-six  was  celebrating  its  silver- 
wedding.  Twenty-five  years  had  passed  since  these 
hilarious  old  grads  received  their  sheepskins.  They 
were  back  in  force,  and  they  had  set  out  to  make 
things  lively. 

The  great  dinner  at  Heibs'  was  over.  But,  unless 
one  eats  the  dinner,  what  profit  to  describe  it.  So  the 
class  of  'Umpty-six  made  merry  on  this  occasion  of 
hilarious  good  cheer.  After  twenty-five  years  the 
class  had  returned  to  dear  old  Yale,  dined  in  the 
shadow  of  her  buildings,  and  drunk  often  and  lov 
ingly  to  the  memory  of  bygone  days. 

A  band  awaited  those  sons  of  'Umpty-six  out 
side  the  door.  The  toasts  were  over,  so  that  now  they 
were  ready  to  start  upon  their  night  of  fun.  What 
though  their  hair  is  streaked  with  gray!  What  though 


56         Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads. 

some  are  bewhiskered  to  the  eyes !  Have  they  not  left 
dignity,  business  cares,  and  such  minor  matters  at 
home  ? 

The  band  struck  up,  "For  He's  a  Jolly  Good  Fel 
low."  The  'Umpty-sixers  came  out  of  Heibs',  arm  in 
arm.  They  caught  up  the  song,  and,  in  full  blare,  the 
band  moved  toward  Chapel  Street,  the  grads  fol 
lowing.  They  turn  into  Chapel  Street,  which,  even  at 
this  hour,  is  brilliantly  lighted,  for  no  one  thinks  of 
sleep  to-night.  And  thus  they  move  toward  Osborne 
Hall. 

On  that  corner,  where  is  now  the  sober  recitation 
hall,  for  half  a  century  stood  the  old  Yale  fence,  the 
focus  of  college  life,  the  scene  of  storied  struggles, 
the  theater  of  evening  glees,  the  symbol  of  happy  days 
at  Yale. 

But  now  the  old  fence  is  gone.  However,  nothing 
will  do  for  these  old  grads  but  that  a  substitute, 
propped  up  by  iron  supports,  must  be  set  in  front  of 
Osborn,  and  thither  the  jolly  old  'Umpty-sixers  direct 
their  course. 

"To  the  fence!  Clear  the  road!  Let  off  the  red 
fire!  Turn  loose  the  sky-rockets  and  Roman  candles, 
and  cram  the  night  full  of  blooming  noise!" 

Up  Chapel  Street  they  come  in  a  flare  of  colored 
fire,  with  the  rockets  hissing  skyward,  the  Roman 
candles  popping  aloft  their  gleaming  balls  of  colored 


Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads.         57 

Same,  while  torpedoes  and  giant  crackers  add  to  the 
racket 

The  windows  of  the  New  Haven  House  are  filled 
with  women  and  pretty  girls  who  had  been  watch 
ing  the  hilarious  crowd  of  grads  across  the  street  all 
the  evening.  This  is  a  new  and  wild  scene  to  them, 
and  now,  when  they  behold  the  'Umpty-sixers  come 
singing  and  dancing  up  to  the  fence,  not  a  few  are 
more  than  ever  impressed  by  the  fact  that  it  is  a  dan 
gerous  thing  to  turn  a  Yale  graduate  loose  on  old  New 
Haven  town  upon  the  occasion  of  one  of  his  class 
reunions. 

"  'Umpty-sixers,  take  the  fence !"  goes  up  the  cry. 

There  follows  a  rush  of  the  old  fellows,  all  eager 
to  gain  a  place  on  the  fence. 

Then  the  band  plays  all  the  old  college  songs,  and 
for  several  hours  to  come  these  hilarious  old  gray- 
beards  will  bawl  and  howl  to  the  strains  of  the 
band. 

But  'Umpty-six  is  not  the  only  class  mixed  up  in 
this  general  blow-out.  Other  and  younger  classes 
are  there,  back  for  occasions  of  lesser  significance  than 
the  silver-wedding.  Nearly  a  thousand  Yale  men  are 
surging  about  Osborn  corner,  which  is  kept  brilliantly 
lighted  by  the  glare  of  Egyptian  red  lights.  Judging 
fey  the  deafening  noise,  it  would  seem  that  the  en- 
lire  stock  of  fireworks  in  the  city  must  have  been 


58         Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads. 

set  off  already.  But  they  will  keep  coming  in  wagon- 
loads. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  tumultuous  rejoicing 
the  man  who  has  won  for  Yale  the  baseball  champion 
ship  of  the  season  is  not  forgotten. 

"Long  cheer  for  Merriwell!"  shrieks  an  'Umpty- 
sixer. 

Then  the  whole  vast  crowd  of  Yale  men  pause 
to  roar  out  the  cheer  for  a  Yale  man  who  to-night  is 
more  famous  than  all  others. 

No  wonder  that  Merriwell  himself  felt  a  thrill. 
No  wonder  some  of  his  friends  laughed  while  their 
eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears. 

And  on  his  arm  was  the  pressure  of  a  hand — the 
hand  of  the  girl  he  loved.  And  at  his  side  was  a 
radiantly  beautiful  girl,  who  felt  that  on  this  day  of 
his  glory  her  joy  must  be  even  greater  than  his. 

Hans  Dunnerwurst  was  sobbing. 

"Whut  in  thunder  is  the  matter  with  yeou?"  blurted 
Ephraim  Gallup,  giving  the  Dutch  youth  a  punch. 

"I  don'd  knew  vot  id  vos,"  answered  Hans,  "but  I 
veel  like  I  vos  peing  tickled  a  fedder  by  till  I  couldn't 
stood  him  no  longer  alretty." 

"Begorra!  Oi  fale  loike  Oi'<i  nivver  get  over  it!" 
said  Barney  Mulloy.  "Oi'll  drame  av  this  fer  a  year." 

Elsie  is  there.  She  is  saying  nothing,  but  the  joy 
in  her  blue  eyes  speaks.  She  looks  at  Frank  as 


Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads.         59 

that  mighty  cheer  for  him  rolls  up  to  the  rocket-riven 
sky.  She  sees  Inza's  hand  on  Frank's  arm,  and  then 
— then  she  turns  to  Hodge. 

Bart,  once  called  selfish,  feels  that  he  is  far  happier 
than  he  would  be  were  those  men  cheering  for  him. 
A  good,  true  friend  Bart  had  been,  and  in  this  hour 
there  is  nothing  of  envy  in  his  heart. 

Why  should  there  be?  Elsie  was  beside  him,  and, 
somehow,  he  felt  that  for  all  of  Frank's  great  glory, 
for  all  of  bewildering,  dark-eyed  Inza,  he — Bart — had 
won  the  prize  of  prizes. 

"Speech !"  shouted  an  'Umpty-sixer,  as  the  cheering 
subsided. 

"Speech!    Speech!"  roared  the  others. 

"Speech  by  Billy  Bilton,  the  only  and  original 
iwindmill  of  'Umpty-six!"  cried  an  old  grad.  "Put 
him  up — put  him  in  the  wagon  with  the  fireworks! 
Shoot  off  your  face,  Billy !  Billy  Bilton  I" 

"Billy  Bilton !    'Umpty-six !"  roared  the  crowd. 

Billy  Bilton  was  the  Honorable  William  P.  Bilton, 
representative  in  Congress  for  the  great  and  glorious 
Commonwealth  of  Maine.  Billy  smiled,  and  that  smile 
was  something  worth  beholding!  He  removed  the 
cigar  from  his  mouth  and  held  it  between  his  fin 
gers. 

"My  contemporaries,"  he  began,  pointing  with  the 
cigard  toward  the  fireworks  in  the  wagon,  "have  been 


60         Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads. 

doing  such  good  work  that  I  feel  handicapped.  But 
I  want  to  say  that  the  greatest  thing  in  this  great 
university  on  this  great  night,  next  to  the  great  class 
of  'Umpty-six,  is  the  great  Frank  Merriwell  1" 

Then  they  cheered  again. 

"Now,"  said  Billy,  when  he  could  again  be  heard, 
"I  want  to  tell  you  what  Frank  Merriwell  has  done 
for  Yale.  He  has  niade  for  her  the  proudest  ath 
letic  record  of  any  college  in  the  country.  Since 
the  day  that  he  was  placed  in  command  not  one  im 
portant  game  has  been  taken  from  us.  It  was  he 
who  arose  in  time  to  lift  Yale  from  the  slough  of 
despond  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  it  was  he 
who  has  led  her  to  the  dazzling  heights  of  glory  where 
she  now  stands.  That's  not  all.  While  he  has  up 
lifted  Yale  he  has  risen  himself,  until  to-day  he  is 
known  from  the  broad  Atlantic  to  the  blue  Pacific. 
Yea,  wherever  the  flag  of  our  country  floats,  the  glori 
ous  Stars  and  Stripes,  there  has  spread  the  name  and 
fame  and  glory  of  Merriwell,  of  Yale." 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  continue  until  they 
had  cheered  again. 

"Even  to  foreign  lands  his  glory  has  spread,"  the 
speaker  went  on.  "Wherever  the  English  language 
is  spoken  the  name  of  Merriwell  may  be  heard.  From 
the  Klondike  to  Patagonia,  from  the  Philippines  to 
South  Africa,  he  is  known  and  admired  and  rev- 


Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads          61 

erenced  as  the  model  American  youth.  Old  men  com 
mend  him  to  the  young,  the  young  try  to  model  after 
him,  and  even  the  child  at  its  mother's  knee  lisps  the 
name  of  Merriwell." 

"Oh,  say !"  muttered  Frank ;  "he's  putting  it  on  too 
thick !  I  can't  stand  this !" 

But  Billy  was  ready  to  switch  now,  although  he  had 
no  thought  of  stopping.  He  waved  his  hand,  and 
sparks  flew  from  his  glowing  cigar. 

"Now,"  he  shouted,  "I  want  to  tell  you  what  'Ump- 
ty-six  has  done  for  Yale.  'Umpty-six  is  the  greatest 
class  that  ever  graduated  from  Yale!"  he  declared, 
with  another  wild  gesture  that  caused  him  to  drop  his 
cigar.  "  'Umpty-six  is " 

Bang — barked  a  cannon  cracker  in  the  wagon. 

"  'Umpty-six " 

Bang!  bang!  bang! 

A  series  of  terrible  explosions  set  William  to  dan 
cing  in  a  lively  manner,  for  his  fallen  cigar  had  ignited 
the  fireworks  in  the  wagon. 

The  horse  attached  to  the  wagon  was  frightened 
and  broke  away,  despite  all  efforts  to  hold  him. 

Immediately  the  Honorable  William  lost  his  foot 
ing  and  fell  upon  his  knees  in  the  wagon,  while  away 
pranced  the  horse  at  a  mad  gallop.  The  orator  was 
kneeling  in  the  midst  of  a  pyrotechnic  display  of  hiss 
ing  Roman  candles,  flaming  red  lights,  bursting  cannon 


62          Celebration  of  the  Old  Grads. 

crackers,  and  screaming-  rockets.  Jack  Ready  after 
ward  declared  that  it  was  a  grand  and  awe-inspiring 
spectacle. 

"There  goes  Windy  Billy!"  shouted  the  crowd,  and 
every  man,  to  the  last  one,  started  after  the  blazing 
wagon  and  the  most  startling  piece  of  set  fireworks 
ever  seen  in  New  Haven,  which  was  long  remem 
bered  by  the  name  of  "The  American  Representative 
in  All  His  Glory." 

As  the  wagon  disappeared  Frank  Merriwell,  who 
was  laughing  at  the  astonishing  climax,  felt  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  He  turned  and  saw  Oliver  Packard. 

"I  have  found  you  at  last,"  said  Packard.  "I've 
been  hunting  for  you  more  than  two  hours." 

"I  have  been  right  here  all  along,"  said  Frank. 
"What  do  you  want,  Oliver?" 

"I  have  brought  it,"  was  the  triumphant  answer, 
as  Packard  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  drew 
out  the  sealed  oilskin  envelope.  "Here  it  is,  Merri 
well." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Merry,  in  great  satisfaction,  as 
he  immediately  thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  "I'll  take 
care  it  is  not  snatched  from  me  again.  I'll  ask  you 
no  questions,  Oliver,  and  I'll  not  forget  what  you 
have  done." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ANTON    MESCAL     STRIKES. 

Roland  Packard  had  fancied  he  might  be  forced  t» 
destroy  the  original  oilskin  envelope  in  removing  the 
message  from  it,  and  for  that  reason  he  had  secured 
a  duplicate.  When  he  succeeded  in  getting  the  mes 
sage  out  without  destroying  the  original  envelope, 
he  decided  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  place  the 
blank  paper  in  that  same  envelope,  as  the  clean  new 
ness  of  the  other  might  betray  the  trick.  Then  he 
was  seized  by  a  desire  to  put  the  message  in  the  other 
envelope  and  copy  as  accurately  as  possible  the  writing 
upon  it,  which  he  did. 

The  villainous  student  chuckled  gleefully  as  he 
thought  how  his  brother  had  been  deceived. 

"I  have  the  message  safe  in  my  pocket,"  he  mut 
tered,  "while  Oil  is  taking  the  fake  to  MerriwelL  But 
must  I  give  up  this  genuine  article  in  order  to  get  the 
five  hundred  from  Mescal  ?" 

He  was  not  at  all  pleased  by  the  thought.  In  fact, 
he  quickly  decided  not  to  give  up  the  message,  if  he 
could  help  it.  He  set  to  thinking  the  matter  over,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  he  had  decided  on  his  course 
of  action.  He  left  the  club-room  and  skulked  away 


64  Anton  Mescal  Strikes. 

to  his  own  room,  taking  care  to  attract  as  little  at 
tention  as  possible. 

The  following  morning  Roland  secured  another  oil 
skin  envelope.  Knowing  Oliver  would  be  off  to  the 
exercises  of  the  day,  he  sought  his  own  room  and 
prepared  the  envelope  there. 

When  he  came  out  the  seniors,  in  caps  and  gowns, 
were  assembling  at  the  chapel,  into  which  a  crowd 
of  visitors  was  flowing. 

"Merriwell  will  be  there  in  all  his  glory!"  muttered 
Packard  to  himself.  "He  will  be  the  cynosure  of  all 
eyes.  Oh,  he'll  feel  proud  and  fine,  but  little  he'll 
dream  that  it  is  my  hand  that  will  send  him  forth  from 
Yale  a  pauper." 

The  chapel  was  thronged  with  visitors  when  the 
exercises  began,  and  Packard  was  right  in  thinking 
that  Merriwell  would  be  the  center  of  attraction. 

In  the  meantime  Packard  had  sought  Anton  Mes 
cal,  whom  he  finally  found  in  a  room  at  the  Tontine. 
Mescal  had  a  bottle  of  wine  on  the  table  at  his  elbow, 
and  was  smoking  a  Spanish  cigarette.  His  face  was 
flushed  and  his  eyes  gleamed  wolfishly  when  Roland 
entered.  He  did  not  rise,  but  regarded  the  student 
grimly. 

"I've  come,"  said  Packard,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"I  see  you  have,"  said  Mescal  coldly,  showing  his 
white  teeth  after  the  manner  of  a  wolf. 


Anton  Mescal  Strikes.  65 

"You  do  not  appear  glad  to  see  me." 

"But  I  am  glad — very  glad,"  said  the  man  from  the 
West,  in  a  very  singular  way. 

Packard  paused,  and  a  shiver  ran  over  him.  There 
was  something  deadly  in  the  atmosphere. 

"Sit  down,"  invited  Mescal,  in  that  same  awesome 
manner,  making  a  slight  gesture  toward  a  chair. 

"I  had  a  hard  time  getting  the  message,"  began 
Packard  awkwardly. 

"Then  you  did  get  it?"  asked  Mescal. 

"Yes.  When  I  set  out  to  do  a  thing,  I  have  a  way 
of  doing  it.  But  you  do  not  seem  much  pleased." 

"I  am  pleased — very  pleased.  Go  on.  How  did 
you  get  it?" 

"I  went  straight  to  Merriwell's  room  in  the  tracks 
of  the  man  you  bade  me  follow." 

"To  Merriwell's  room?" 

"Yes.  I  could  not  get  a  chance  to  tackle  the  fel 
low  and  secure  the  message.  You  know  the  streets 
were  full." 

"Yes." 

"If  I  had  tackled  him  on  the  street  I  must  have 
failed,  and  I  would  have  been  lodged  in  the  jug." 

"Possibly.     Go  on." 

The  manner  of  the  Westerner  had  not  changed  in 
the  least,  and  Roland  felt  that  those  daggerlike  eyes 
were  piercing  him  through  and  through. 


66  Anton  Mescal  Strikes. 

"Merriwell's  room  was  packed  with  his  friends,  who 
were  there  to  congratulate  him.  I  walked  right  in 
after  the  messenger." 

"Very  bold  of  you!" 

"The  messenger  took  the  message  from  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  over  to  Merriwell." 

"And  you?" 

"I  was  near  enough  to  spring  forward  and  snatch 
it  from  Merriwell's  hand." 

"But  you  did  not?" 

"I  did!  I  snatched  it  and  fled.  I  eluded  the  pur 
suers  and  got  away  with  it.  Of  course,  they  were 
searching  for  me  last  night,  so  I  was  compelled  to  lay 
low.  But  I  am  here  now." 

"And  you  have  the  message?" 

"I  have." 

Mescal  rose  to  his  feet,  and  the  look  on  his  face 
seemed  to  become  more  dangerous  than  ever. 

"Where  is  it?" 

"Here,"  said  Packard,  also  rising. 

From  his  pocket  he  took  the  fake  envelope,  which  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

,    "Give  me  the  five  hundred  dollars,"  he  demanded. 
"It  is  yours  the  moment  you  pay  me  the  money." 

Mescal  stepped  clear  of  the  table,  and  by  a  sudden 
spring  placed  himself  between  Packard  and  the  door. 
He  was  hke  a  panther  in  his  movements. 


Anton  Mescal  Strikes.  67 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  Roland,  in 
alarm.  "What  are  you  doing?  Don't  think  for  a 
moment  that  you  can  take  the  message  from  me  with 
out  paying  the  money." 

"You  fool!"  said  Mescal,  in  a  low  tone.  "You  liar! 
You  traitor!" 

Packard  saw  there  was  trouble  in  the  air.  He 
wondered  if  in  any  manner  this  man  could  have  dis 
covered  his  trick. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  calling  me  such  names?" 
he  blustered. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  have  said;  you  are  a  fool, 
a  liar,  and  a  traitor.  You  came  here  to  deceive  me!" 

"To  deceive  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

"With  that  thing!"  said  the  man,  pointing  at  the 
oilskin  envelope.  "It  does  not  contain  the  message!" 

Packard  was  astounded,  but  he  resolved  to  make  a 
good  bluff. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  he  exclaimed,  pretending 
to  be  much  astonished.  "What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  know  your  game  to  beat  me  out 
of  five  hundred  dollars!  I  mean  that  I  was  watching 
you  last  night!  I  mean  that  I  saw  you  when  you 
went  to  Merriwell  and  gave  the  message  to  him  with 
your  own  hand !" 


68  Anton  Mescal  Strikes. 

Roland  gasped. 

"Went  to  him — and  gave  him — the  message?"  he 

faltered.  "Why,  man,  you  are "  Then  he  paused, 

uttering  a  little  cry,  as  a  sudden  light  broke  on  him. 

It  was  Oliver  this  fellow  had  watched!  It  was 
Oliver  he  had  seen  give  the  fake  envelope  to  Merri- 
well! 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said  swiftly,  although  he 
could  not  quite  see  how  he  was  going  to  make  things 
clear.  "I  have  a  twin  brother  who  looks  exactly  like 
me.  You  saw  him." 

For  one  moment  Mescal  seemed  surprised,  and  then 
a  dangerous  laugh  came  from  his  lips. 

"And  what  was  your  twin  brother  doing  with  the 
message?"  he  demanded. 

Roland  choked  and  hesitated.  That  hesitation 
seemed  to  fan  the  man  to  a  burst  of  fury. 

"Fool!"  he  hissed,  crouching.  "You  have  tried  to 
deceive  the  wrong  man!  Had  you  known  me  better 
you  would  not  have  done  so!  In  my  body  flows  the 
blood  of  the  Spaniard,  and  I  never  forgive  an  in 
jury!  You  betrayed  me,  and  I  will  settle  with  you 
as  we  settle  such  scores  in  the  West !" 

Out  flashed  a  slender  dagger  in  his  hand.  Roland 
uttered  a  cry  of  fear  as  Mescal  leaped  upon  him.  The 
student  tried  to  defend  himself,  but  Mescal's  blade  rose 
and  fell. 


Anton  Mescal  Strikes.  69 

"You  devil!"  gasped  Packard.  "You  have  stabbed 
me." 

Then,  as  Roland  sank  to  his  knees,  Mescal  broke 
away,  flung  the  blood-stained  dagger  on  the  floor,  and 
bounded  to  the  door.  One  backward  look  he  took 
as  he  disappeared,  seeing  the  bleeding  youth  upon  the 
floor. 

Then  he  fled  from  the  hotel  and  from  New  Haven. 

Packard  was  not  fatally  wounded.  The  dagger  had 
pierced  the  muscle  of  his  arm,  and  the  point  had  pen- 
trated  his  side  as  far  as  a  rib.  The  wound  in  the  arm 
was  the  most  painful,  and  the  other  was  not  danger 
ous.  In  the  hospital  Roland  was  skilfully  treated, 
but  he  persistently  refused  to  tell  how  or  by  whom 
he  had  been  wounded. 

Nor  would  he  stay  in  the  hospital  when  he  found 
that  his  wound  was  not  at  all  dangerous  if  properly 
cared  for  He  came  out  that  afternoon  and  re 
turned  to  the  college. 

He  found  the  afternoon  exercises  on  the  campus 
taking  place.  The  place  was  like  an  open  arena,  with 
temporary  seats  rising  in  tiers  all  round  it.  Those 
seats  were  packed  with  human  beings,  spectators  and 
friends  of  the  students.  Already  the  classes  had 
marched  in,  led  by  the  band,  and  assembled  on  the 
benches  in  the  middle  of  the  arena,  where  they  now 
sat  sedately  smoking  long  clay  pipes  and  wearing  caps 


70  Anton  Mescal  Strikes. 

and  gowns.  They  were  listening  to  the  historians  of 
the  class,  who  were  reading  the  class  histories. 

Packard  looked  on,  feeling  that  something  was  oc 
curring  in  which  he  had  no  part  and  no  interest.  His 
arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  this  last  enemy  of  Merriwell 
at  Yale  looked  a  forlorn  and  wretched  figure. 

The  histories  read  by  the  different  historians  had 
been  full  of  hits  upon  the  various  members  of  the  class. 
As  a  man's  name  was  called  his  companions  lifted  him 
upon  their  shoulders,  while  his  history  was  given  to 
the  strained  ears  of  the  gathering.  He  was  com 
pelled  to  submit  gracefully,  but  some  of  those  sharp 
hits  caused  the  victims  to  look  like  fresh-boiled  lob 
sters. 

The  historian  was  reading  when  Packard  reached  a 
spot  where  he  could  see  and  hear.  Bruce  Browning 
was  held  aloft  upon  the  shoulders  of  his  fellows.  When 
it  was  finished,  Browning  was  lowered,  and  up  came 
Bart  Hodge  as  his  name  was  mentioned. 

"MerriweH's  friends!"  muttered  Packard  bitterly. 
"Everybody  seems  to  be  Merriwell's  friend  to-day. 
I'm  the  only  one  of  the  whole  howling  pack  who  has 
remained  his  enemy.  He  has  conquered  them  all,  but 
I'll  conquer  him!" 

Then  Hodge  was  lowered.  There  was  a  stir.  The 
name  of  Merriwell  came  from  the  lips  of  the  historian. 
Instantly  something  remarkable  took  place.  Merry 


Anton  Mescal  Strikes.  71 

was  lifted  and  held  aloft,  but  every  man  on  these 
benches  rose  to  his  feet.  It  was  a  tribute  to  Frank, 
and  the  great  crowd  of  watching  spectators  caught 
the  feeling.  Up  rose  that  mass  of  men  and  women 
and  youths  and  girls  in  one  great  surge,  standing  for 
the  moment  to  do  honor  to  the  most  famous  college 
man  in  the  world.  It  was  a  spectacle  never  forgotten 
at  Yale. 

Then  those  students  who  were  not  holding  Frame 
aloft  sat  down,  and  the  spectators  followed  their  ex 
ample. 

The  historian,  his  voice  ringing  out  clear  and  strong, 
delivered  a  blood-stirring  eulogy  on  Merriwell. 

"Bah!"  muttered  Packard,  and,  sick  at  heart,  he 
slunk  away,  unwilling  to  listen  to  those  words  of  adula 
tion  for  one  he  hated  with  undying  intensity. 

Late  that  afternoon,  when  the  exercises  were  all 
over,  Oliver  Packard  found  Roland  in  the  room  the> 
had  occupied  together.  Oliver  was  surprised  when 
he  saw  his  brother's  arm  in  a  sling,  and  he  asked  what 
had  happened. 

"None  of  your  business !"  answered  Roland  surlily. 

"You  are  hurt?"  exclaimed  Oliver,  forgetting  that 
he  had  vowed  he  would  take  no  further  interest  in 
his  wayward  brother.  "What  is  it,  Roll !  Won't  yoi? 
tell  me  how  badly  you  are  hurt?" 

"Go  to  the  devil !"  snarled  Roland. 


72  Anton  Mescal  Strikes. 

Oliver  sat  down,  a  look  of  sadness  on  his  face.  For 
some  time  he  sat  in  silence ;  but  he  spoke  at  last. 

"Where  were  you  while  the  exercises  were  taking 
place  to-day  ?"  he  asked. 

"That's  my  business,"  said  Roland. 

"You  should  have  been  there.  If  you  had,  it's 
possible  your  arm  would  not  be  in  a  sling  now.  Ro 
land,  I  have  returned  the  message  to  Merriwell,  and 
i  feel  that  he  will  take  no  action  against  you.  I  did 
not  ask  him  not  to  do  so,  for  I  have  been  forced  to 
ask  him  so  many  times  before  that  I  was  ashamed." 

"Then  I  owe  you  no  thanks." 

"No;  but  you  do  owe  him  something.  Is  the  last 
spark  of  honor  and  the  last  particle  of  justice  driven 
from  your  heart?  Can't  you  see  where  you  have 
placed  yourself  by  your  conduct  toward  this  man,  who 
to-day  has  been  honored  as  no  Yale  man  ever  before 
was  honored?" 

"Honored  by  fools!"  growled  Roland. 

"Honored  by  the  wisest  men  in  college!  Honored 
by  every  one!  If  you  had  seen  every  person  in  that 
great  crowd  on  the  campus  rise  when  his  name  was 
spoken  by  the  historian " 

"I  did  see  it,  and  then  I  got  away." 

"Then "you  were  there?  But  you  were  not  in  your 
place." 

"If  I  had  been,  they  would  have  seen  that  one 


Anton  Mescal  Strikes.  7? 

college  man  did  not  rise  when  Merriwell's  name  was 
called." 

"And  you  would  have  brought  on  yourself  the  scorn 
of  every  one.  Can't  you  see  that  by  his  generosity,  his 
fine  character,  and  manliness,  he  has  risen  far  above 
you?" 

"No!  I  see  that  he  has  a  trick  of  fooling  everybody 
but  me.  He  can  make  his  enemies  forget  that  they 
were  once  enemies,  but  I  am  not  like  the  others.  I 
want  to  tell  you  something,  Oil.  You  think  Merri- 
well  has  triumphed,  but  you  are  wrong.  I  am  the 
one  who  has  triumphed,  though  no  one  save  myself 
knows  it.  Some  time  Merriwell  shall  know,  and  then 
he  will  realize  that  one  of  his  enemies  was  more  than 
a  match  for  him." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Oliver,  amazed.  "Are 
you  crazy?" 

"Never  mind  what  I  mean,  but  I  speak  the  truth.  I 
have  triumphed,  and  Merriwell  is  my  victim.  I'll 
talk  no  more  about  it,  so  you  may  as  well  close  your 
face." 

And  Oliver  could  get  nothing  further  from  his 
brother. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    END     COMES. 

The  day  of  graduation  came.  The  sun  shone  bright 
and  clear  on  this  great  day  in  the  life  of  Frank  Mer- 
riwell,  but  still  that  feeling  of  sadness  was  lingering 
in  his  heart,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  bidding  farewell 
to  his  dear  home. 

Frank  had  competed  to  be  a  Townsend  teacher, 
and  he  had  been  chosen  one  of  the  fortunate  six  who 
were  to  speak  for  the  DeForest  gold  medal. 

Thus  it  happened  that  he  was  given  little  time  for 
thought  and  little  in  which  to  see  his  friends,  all  of 
whom  were  eager  to  be  in  his  company. 

Had  he  known  that  the  oilskin  envelope  in  his  pos 
session  contained  nothing  but  blank  paper  it  is  not 
probable  he  could  have  spoken  as  brilliantly  as  he  did. 

When  the  speaking  was  over  it  was  generally  con 
ceded  that  the  handsome  medal  must  go  to  Merri- 
well. 

The  faculty  adjourned  to  the  Treasury  building, 
and  there  Frank  was  awarded  the  splendid  prize.  Each 
member  of  the  faculty  shook  his  hand  in  turn  and 
spoke  some  word  of  praise  to  him.  They  looked  on 
him  lovingly,  for  they  knew  that  he  had  done  more 


The  End  Comes.  75 

to  raise  the  standard  of  college  life  than  any  other 
student  in  the  country. 

Frank  was  on  his  way  to  his  room  when  he  almost 
collided  with  Roland  Packard. 

Packard  had  been  drinking  heavily,  and  he  stopped, 
his  lip  curling  in  a  scornful  sneer. 

"You  think  you're  it,  Merriwell,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 
of  great  contempt ;  "but,  if  you  only  knew  it,  you  are 
the  biggest  fool  alive." 

Frank  had  no  desire  to  exchange  words  with  the 
fellow. 

"You're  drunk,  Packard,"  he  said  quietly. 

"You're  a  liar,  Merriwell!"  snarled  Packard,  whQ 
seemed  not  to  have  a  single  remnant  of  reason  left. 

Frank  was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  the  lie  from 
anybody,  but  now,  seeing  Packard's  arm  in  a  sling, 
he  did  not  heed  the  fellow's  insult. 

"Your  friends  think  you're  a  great  gun,"  Roland 
went  on;  "but  you  really  are  mighty  small  potatoes. 
Won  the  DeForest  prize,  did  you?  Well,  you  may 
have  to  pawn  it  soon  to  get  bread  to  keep  you  from 
starving !" 

This  did  not  have  the  effect  Roland  had  fancied 
it  might,  which  angered  him  to  a  still  further  expres 
sion  of  rage. 

"Oh,  you're  mighty  cool;  but  you  won't  be  so  cool 
when  you  find  you're  a  beggar!  And  you  are!  I 


76  The  End  Comes. 

know  what  I'm  talking  about.  You  will  find  it  out  in 
time,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  now  that  it  is  I — I,  Roland 
Packard,  whom  you  despise,  who  has  made  you  a 
beggar!  Don't  forget  it!" 

He  wheeled  and  walked  swiftly  away. 

Frank  stood  still  and  looked  after  the  fellow. 

"I  wonder  what  he  meant,"  Merry  muttered,  a  feel 
ing  of  uneasiness  in  his  breast.  "Is  he  plumb  daffy? 
I  know  he's  pretty  drunk,  but  still  it  seems  that  he 
must  have  some  reason  left." 

Frank  was  troubled  despite  himself,  and  he  hur 
ried  to  his  room,  where  he  made  sure  the  oilskin  en 
velope  was  still  safe  in  his  possession. 

Packard  had  hurried  away  to  drink  still  more.  Al 
ready  he  was  half-crazed  by  liquor,  but  he  felt  con 
sumed  by  a  burning  fire  that  called  for  more,  more, 
more. 

The  afternoon  of  graduation-day  came  and  saw  all 
graduating  students  in  caps  and  gowns,  headed  by  the 
faculty,  likewise  garbed,  march  to  the  music  of  a  band 
out  of  the  campus  and  down  Elm  Street  to  the  green, 
which  they  crossed,  turning  up  Chapel  Street  to  Van- 
derbilt.  The  gates  of  Vanderbilt  are  opened  but  once 
a  year,  always  on  this  occasion,  and  through  the  gates 
they  marched,  under  the  arch  and  across  the  campus. 
The  chapel  was  entered,  and  then  came  the  last  solemn 
ceremony  of  conferring  the  degrees. 


The  End  Comes.  77 

Frank  thrilled  when  he  stood  up  to  receive  his  sheep 
skin.  There  was  a  choking  in  his  throat,  his  sensa 
tion  was  a  mingled  feeling  of  joy  and  sorrow  that  was 
like  exquisite  pain.  His  face  was  pale  as  marble. 
When  the  certificate  was  placed  in  his  hand  he  felt 
that  it  was  the  document  that  divorced  him  from  dear 
old  Yale,  and  he  sat  down  with  his  teeth  clenched  to 
hold  back  the  moan  that  sought  vent. 

It  was  over ! 

That  afternoon  a  man  was  seen  reeling  over  the 
Barnesville  bridge.  He  was  intoxicated,  and  he  seemed 
to  fancy  he  was  pursued  by  an  enemy  or  enemies  who 
sought  his  life.  Filled  with  mad  terror,  he  climbed 
upon  the  railing  not  far  from  the  eastern  end  of 
the  bridge  and  flung  himself  headlong  into  the  river. 

Several  persons  had  seen  this  crazy  act,  and  they 
rushed  to  rescue  him,  if  possible.  Two  men  pulled 
3ut  in  a  boat  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  last  been, 
seen.  As  they  pulled  he  rose  to  the  surface,  made  a 
few  feeble  splashes,  and  sank. 

One  of  the  men  stripped  off  his  coat  and  plunged 
in.  He  brought  the  drowning  fellow  up,  helped  the 
other  man  get  him  into  the  boat,  crawled  in  himself, 
and  they  pulled  ashore. 

On  the  shore  men  worked  nearly  an  hour  over  the 
poor  wretch,  but  all  their  efforts  were  unavailing.  He 
was  dead.  In  his  pocket  they  found  some  letters. 


78  The  End  Comes. 

which  told  them  he  was  a  student  and  that  his  name 
was  Roland  Packard. 

And  thus  it  came  about  that  in  the  pocket  of  his 
dead  brother  Oliver  Packard  found  another  envelope 
that  looked  exactly  like  the  one  Roland  had  snatched 
from  Merriwell.  He  was  astonished  and  puzzled,  but 
he  took  it  to  Merriwell. 

"One  of  them  must  contain  the  message,  Merri 
well,"  said  Oliver,  whose  face  was  marked  with  deep 
sorrow. 

"To-morrow  will  tell,"  said  Frank,  "for  then  I  will 
open  them  both."  He  took  Oliver's  hand.  "I  am  very 
sorry,  Packard,"  he  said. 

"It  is  for  the  best,"  declared  Oliver;  but  his  chin 
quivered  as  he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  MESSAGE  STOLEN  AGAIN. 

"The  time  has  come!" 

The  words  came  from  the  lips  of  Frank  Merriwell, 
who  was  standing  beside  a  small  table  in  a  room  of 
one  of  New  York's  big  hotels.  In  his  hand  he  held 
the  two  oilskin  envelopes.  Across  each  envelope  had 
been  written: 

"To  Frank  Merriwell;  to  be  opened  the  day  after 
he  graduates  from  Yale." 

Frank  had  studied  the  writing  on  those  envelopes, 
and  he  was  convinced  that  the  words  on  one  had 
been  imitated  and  copied  from  the  other. 

Bart  Hodge  was  Merry's  companion,  sitting  near 
and  showing  no  small  amount  of  interest  in  the  sin 
gular  envelopes. 

"Which  contains  the  message?"  was  the  question 
that  came  from  Bart's  lips. 

"That  is  a  conundrum,"  admitted  Frank,  as  he  gazed 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"This  is  the  one  Oliver  Packard  returned  that  night 
the  old  grads  were  celebrating  on  Osborne  corner." 

"Which  one  is  that,  the  original  or  the  fake?" 

"The  original" 


8o  The  Message  Stolen  Again. 

'Then  what  do  you  make  of  it?" 

"I  believe  it  does  not  contain  the  message.  I  be 
lieve  the  original  envelope  was  opened  by  Roland 
Packard." 

"Why  did  he  do  that?" 

"I  don't  know,  unless  he  expected  he  would  have  to 
give  up  something  and  was  determined  to  hang  on  to 
the  real  message.  I  am  convinced  that  there  was 
somebody  behind  Roland  Packard.  He  was  not  work 
ing  on  his  own  hook.  The  messenger  was  pursued  all 
the  way  from  Colorado  to  New  Haven  by  a  man  who 
seemed  determined  to  do  him  injury.  That  man 
failed,  but  is  it  not  possible  he  instigated  the  action  of 
Roland  Packard?" 

"And  you  think  the  stranger  employed  him  to  get 
hold  of  the  message?" 

"I  have  arrived  at  that  belief." 

"Still,  that  does  not  explain  the  fake  envelope." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  Roland  Packard's  curiosity  was 
aroused  and  he  determined  to  find  out  what  the  orig 
inal  envelope  contained.  He  opened  it  In  fact,  hav 
ing  studied  and  examined  this  envelope  closely,  I 
think  I  can  detect  indications  that  it  has  been  broken 
open." 

"Then  it  is  likely  that  Oliver  Packard  did  not  restore 
to  you  the  message,  after  all." 

"Not  in  this  first  envelope,  but  you  know  he  brought 


The  Message  Stolen  Again.  81 

me  this  other,  which  was  taken  from  the  body  of  his 
dead  brother." 

"Then  it  is  possible  that  the  second  envelope  is  the 
one  that  contains  the  message." 

"Yes,"  nodded  Frank.  "I  almost  dread  to  open  it, 
although  the  time  to  do  so  has  come.  Something 
seems  to  whisper  that  it  contains  a  great  surprise  for 
me." 

Frank  sat  down  beside  the  table,  and,  with  a  firm 
hand,  tore  open  the  envelope  he  regarded  as  the  orig 
inal.  An  exclamation  escaped  his  lips  as  he  drew 
forth  the  contents. 

"Look,  Bart!"  he  cried.  "I  was  right!  Nothing 
but  blank  paper!" 

He  held  the  unsoiled  sheets  up  before  the  eyes  of 
his  almost  breathless  companion. 

"By  Jove !  you  were  right !"  said  Hodge.  "You  have 
a  way  of  figuring  things  out  correctly,  Merriwell.  The 
other  envelope  must  contain  the  message." 

But,  strange  to  say,  Merriwell  seemed  to  hesitate 
again. 

"What  if  it  should  not!"  he  muttered.  "What  if 
that  also  contains  nothing  but  blank  paper !" 

"But  it  must  contain  the  message!"  exclaimed  Bart. 

"Why?" 

"Because — because  the  message  was  not  in  this 
one." 


8a  The  Message  Stolen  Again. 

"A  poor  reason,  Bart.  It's  likely  this  envelope  was 
fixed  to  deceive  the  man  who  employed  Roland  Pack 
ard  to  secure  the  message.  I  presume  that  man  of 
fered  Packard  money  to  get  the  message  and  turn  it 
over  to  him.  Packard's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and ' 
he  decided  to  find  out  what  the  message  contained, 
which  led  him  to  remove  it  from  the  envelope.  Then 
he  fixed  up  the  original  envelope  to  deceive  the  man 
who  had  paid  him  to  do  the  crooked  work,  but  his 
brother  took  it  from  him  in  the  fight.  Following  that 
it  is  likely  that  he  fixed  up  this  other  envelope  for  the 
purpose  of  fooling  his  rascally  employer.  In  such  a 
case,  it  is  almost  certain  that  envelope  No.  2  contains 
blank  paper,  the  same  as  the  first." 

"Open  it !"  panted  Hodge. 

"That  will  settle  it,"  said  Frank,  as  he  did  so. 

Bart  was  rigid  as  a  marble  image  as  Merry  drew  the 
contents  of  the  envelope  forth. 

From  Frank's  lips  came  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"It  is  the  message!"  he  said. 

Had  he  not  been  so  preoccupied,  so  absorbed,  Frank 
Merriwell  would  have  heard  the  slight  rustling  sound 
in  the  alcove  bedroom  behind  him.  In  times  of  ex 
pected  danger  his  alertness  was  something  remarkable, 
but  just  now  his  mind  was  concentrated  on  the  mys 
terious  message  which  he  had  taken  from  the  en 
velope. 


The  Message  Stolen  Again.  83 

Nor  did  Bart  hear  anything  to  arouse  his  suspi 
cions. 

A  slight  breeze  came  through  the  open  bedroom 
window,  and  gently  stirred  the  portieres  behind 
Frank's  back. 

Merriwell's  face  grew  very  pale  as  he  read  the  open 
ing  words  of  the  message,  and  his  watching  com 
panion  knew  something  had  produced  a  profound  ef 
fect  on  him. 

"What  is  it?"  Bart  was  compelled  to  ask. 

"It  is  from  my  father,  as  I  believed,"  said  Merriwell, 
plainly  making  an  effort  to  steady  his  voice.  "I  have 
read  nothing  but  the  opening  sentence,  but  this  is  what 
it  says: 

"  'This,  my  son,  is  the  confession  of  your  father, 
who,  near  to  the  point  of  death  and  beyond  all  hope 
ef  recovery,  is  lying  in  the  cabin  of  Juan  Delores,  near 
Urmiston,  which  is  about  fifty  miles  from  Denver.' ' 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Hodge.  "Your  father 
dying?" 

"Dead  by  this  time,  it  is  likely/'  came  sadly  from 
Frank's  lips.  "And  I  not  near  in  his  last  moments!" 

The  expression  of  regret  and  grief  on  Frank's  face 
was  sincere  and  profound. 

"Too  bad!"  muttered  Bart.  "But  he  always  was 
such  a  strange  man!" 

"Strange,  indeed,"  nodded  Frank.    "I  knew  little  of 


84  The  Message  Stolen  Again. 

his  life  after  he  went  to  seek  his  fortune  amid  the 
mines,  save  that  part  which  is  closely  connected  with 
his  fight  against  his  great  enemy,  Santenel.  He  told 
me  that  portion  of  it,  but  concerning  the  rest  he  has 
said  little  or  nothing." 

"This  may  throw  light  upon  it.  He  calls  it  a  con 
fession." 

"And  the  fact  that  he  has  called  it  that  makes  me 
hesitate  once  more  about  reading.  But  it  must  be 
done." 

Again  Merry  lifted  the  message  to  read. 

Over  his  shoulder  darted  a  hand  that  snatched  the 
message  from  his  grasp ! 

At  the  same  moment,  uttering  a  cry  of  warning, 
Bart  Hodge  sprang  to  his  feet,  pointing  toward  the 
parted  portieres  behind  Merriwell. 

Merry  shot  to  his  feet  like  a  flash,  but  he  was  barely 
in  time  to  see  a  man  disappearing  between  the  por 
tieres. 

A  second  time  had  the  precious  message  been 
snatched  from  his  fingers. 

"Stop  him !"  shouted  Hodge. 

Merry  was  first  to  leap  between  the  portieres,  and 
yet  he  was  barely  in  time  to  see  a  man  disappearing 
through  a  window  that  led  out  upon  a  fire-escape. 

A  single  glimpse  of  the  man's  face  Merriwell  ob 
tained  as  V  plunged  after  him.  He  saw  him 


The  Message  Stolen  Again.  85 

entering1  the  open  window  of  an  adjoining1  room,  the 
fire-escape  running  from  one  window  to  the  other. 

At  a  single  bound  Frank  reached  the  other  window 
and  followed  the  man  into  the  room.  The  fugitive 
was  passing  out  through  a  door  that  led  into  the  hall 
as  Merry  jumped  in  by  the  window. 

Toward  that  door  bounded  Merry.  It  was  slammed 
in  his  face. 

It  had  a  spring-lock,  and  for  a  moment  it  bothered 
Frank,  who  was  compelled  to  pause  to  open  it.  By 
that  time  Hodge  had  reached  the  window  of  the  room, 
into  which  he  looked  in  great  surprise,  seeing  that 
Merry  was  there  alone. 

"Where  is  the "  Frank  heard  no  more  of  Bart's 

question,  for  he  tore  open  the  door  and  leaped  out 
into  the  corridor. 

The  fugitive  had  disappeared. 

Frank  went  dashing  along  the  passage,  looking  for 
the  man,  but  seeing  nothing  of  him.  The  fellow  had 
disappeared  in  a  most  remarkable  manner  after  leaving 
the  room. 

"Search,  Hodge!"  called  Merry,  and  Bart  joined  in 
the  hunt. 

But  though  they  searched  everywhere,  they  found 
nothing  of  the  man  they  were  after.  The  hotel  was 
aroused.  The  clerk  in  the  office  was  notified,  and  he 
sent  the  hotel  detective  to  join  in  the  search. 


86  The  Message  Stolen  Again. 

But,  after  an  hour  of  hunting,  the  searchers  were 
forced  to  give  up,  as  the  unknown  thief  had  not  been 
found. 

Then  Merry  went  to  the  office  and  took  a  look  at 
the  register  to  find  out  who  had  occupied  the  room 
next  to  his — the  one  through  which  the  desperate  rascal 
had  made  good  his  retreat  from  the  fire-escape. 

The  name  on  the  register  was  "Anton  Mescal,  Fair 
Play,  Col." 

"Fair  Play!"  muttered  Hodge,  who  was  looking 
over  Frank's  shoulder.  "What  does  a  scoundrel  like 
that  know  of  fair  play?" 

Frank  asked  the  clerk  if  he  could  give  a  description 
of  Mescal. 

"He  is  slender,  looks  like  a  Spaniard,  and  has  a 
small,  pointed,  black  mustache,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
do  not  remember  how  he  was  dressed,  so  his  clothes 
must  have  been  fairly  within  the  style." 

"That's  the  man!"  exclaimed  Hodge.  "I  saw  his 
face,  and  the  description  fits." 

Frank  nodded. 

"I  believe  Mescal  is  the  man,"  he  said.  "I  will  give 
one  thousand  dollars  for  his  capture  and  the  restora 
tion  to  me  of  the  document  which  he  snatched  from 
my  hands." 

The  clerk  looked  at  Merry,  as  if  doubting  his  ability 
to  pay  such  a  sum;  but  the  young  Yale  graduate  was 


The  Message  Stolen  Again.  87 

taking-  a  small  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket.  From  the 
roll  he  drew  off  two  five-hundred-dollar  bills,  which 
he  handed  to  the  cashier,  who  stood  near  the  clerk. 

"The  money  is  to  be  paid  to  the  person  or  persons 
who  capture  or  cause  to  be  captured  the  thief  who 
stole  the  document  from  me,  in  case  it  is  restored  to 
my  hands,"  said  Merriwell  quietly.  "You  are  to  en 
list  the  services  of  the  regular  police  and  do  every 
thing  in  your  power." 

"The  police  have  been  called  already,"  said  the 
clerk.  "I  telephoned  the  nearest  station  immediately, 
and  two  officers  appeared  very  shortly.  They  have 
been  guarding  the  entrances  to  the  hotel,  while  the 
regular  house  detectives  have  been  searching.  I  sus 
pected  this  Mescal  and  gave  an  accurate  description 
of  him  to  the  policemen.  They  have  not  stopped  him 
as  yet." 

"Only  two  officers  on  guard!"  exclaimed  Frank. 
"Yet  there  is  a  front  and  back  entrance,  and  one 
through  your  barber's  shop  and  by  the  way  of  the 
bar.  Mr.  Mescal  is  out  of  the  hotel  by  this  time." 

"We  have  done  everything  we  coul^  "  declared  the 
clerk. 

Frank  turned  away. 

"The  message  is  lost,  Bart,"  he  said. 

"Lost?"  said  Bart,  astonished  that  Frank  should 
give  up  so  easily. 


88  The  Message  Stolen  Again. 

"Yes,"  Merry  nodded,  his  face  wearing  a  grim  cx«= 
pression. 

Hodge  was  trembling  with  rage  at  the  outcome. 

"It's  an  infernal  shame!"  he  hissed.  "Merriwell, 
you  must " 

Frank's  hand  gripped  his  arm. 

"Come!"  said  Merry's  voice,  still  calm  and  re 
strained. 

Together  they  went  to  the  nearest  police-station, 
where  Frank  told  his  story  to  the  sergeant  in  charge, 
repeating  his  offer  for  the  arrest  of  the  thief  and 
the  restoration  of  the  message.  He  was  told  that 
everything  possible  should  be  done,  and  with  that 
promise  he  was  compelled  to  be  satisfied. 

Frank  scarcely  spoke  as  they  returned  to  the  hotel. 
Bart  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face  and  said 
things  to  himself. 

In  his  room  Merry  sat  quite  still  for  some  time, 
the  look  on  his  face  indicating  that  he  was  in  deep 
thought. 

Bart  did  not  venture  to  break  in  upon  his  medita 
tions.  To  Hodge  this  second  loss  of  the  message,  at 
the  moment  when  Merry  had  begun  to  read  it,  was 
something  to  throw  him  into  a  perfect  tempest  of 
rage;  but  Frank  had  shown  that  he  was  master  of  his 
temper. 

Bart  knew  Merry  was  thoughtfully  considering  the 


The  Message  Stolen  Again.  89 

situation  and  studying  over  it  in  view  of  the  proper 
course  to  pursue.  After  half  an  hour  he  quietly 
said: 

"That  is  what  I'll  do." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Bart,  unable  to  repress  his 
curiosity  longer.  "What  have  you  decided  to  do?" 

"I  believe  there  is  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand 
that  the  man  who  snatched  that  message  will  be  cap 
tured  before  he  can  get  out  of  New  York,  and  this 
has  led  me  to  decide  on  a  course  of  action.  In  the 
single  sentence  that  I  read  my  father  said  that  he 
was  at  the  cabin  of  Juan  Delores,  near  Urmiston, 
which  is  about  fifty  miles  from  Denver.  I  shall  wait 
here  until  to-morrow.  If  the  police  have  not  made  a 
capture  by  that  time,  I  shall  leave  New  York." 

"Whither  bound?" 

"For  the  cabin  of  Juan  Delores,  near  Urmiston, 
Colorado.  I  am  going  to  find  out  the  truth,  if  pos 
sible.  There  is  a  mystery  to  be  solved,  and  I  mean  to 
solve  it.  Bart!" 

"Frank!" 

"Are  you  with  me  ?" 

Merry  had  risen.  Hodge  leaped  to  his  feet.  TheiF 
hands  met,  as  Bart  exclaimed: 

"To  the  end,  through  thick  and  thin!" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    OLD    INDIAN. 

Before  them  lay  the  mighty  Rockies,  rising  range 
on  range,  till  their  glittering,  snow-capped  summits 
pressed  the  sky.  Wild  and  picturesque  and  awe-in 
spiring  was  the  scene.  They  were  in  the  foot-hills,  and 
the  country  was  rough  and  broken. 

Frank  had  drawn  rein  at  the  mouth  of  what  seemed 
to  be  a  small  valley.  He  was  covered  with  dust, 
and  the  hardy  mustang  he  bestrode  showed  signs  of 
weariness. 

Merriwell  was  clothed  to  rough  it,  having  exchanged 
the  garments  of  the  cities  and  towns  for  those  more 
suited  to  the  latter  stages  of  his  search  for  the  cabin 
of  Juan  Delores.  On  his  head  was  a  wide-brimmed 
felt  hat,  and  he  wore  a  woolen  shirt,  with  a  side  col 
lar  and  a  flowing  tie,  a  cartridge-belt  about  his  waist, 
and  leather  leggings  covered  his  trousers  nearly  to  his 
thighs.  There  were  spurs  on  the  heels  of  his  boots. 
His  coat  he  had  stripped  off,  for  the  day  was  warm 
to  an  uncomfortable  degree. 

A  Winchester  repeating  rifle  was  slung  at  the  pom 
mel  of  Merry's  saddle,  and  a  pair  of  long-barreled 
revolvers  rested  in  the  holsters  on  his  hips.  Taken 


The  Old  Indian.  91 

altogether,  he  looked  like  a  young  man  who  had  made 
preparations  for  almost  anything  he  might  encounter. 

Bart  Hodge,  similarly  mounted  and  dressed,  had 
drawn  up  beside  Frank. 

Despite  their  attire,  there  was  something  in  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  two  young  men  that  marked  them  as 
belonging  to  "the  tenderfoot  breed."  In  other  words, 
the  experienced  eye  would  have  discovered  at  a  glance 
that  they  were  Easterners. 

A  cool  breeze  came  down  the  valley,  bearing  with 
it  a  pleasant  odor  of  wild  growing  things. 

The  faces  of  both  lads,  lately  fresh  from  college, 
had  been  burned  and  blistered  by  the  hot  suns  and  sear 
ing  winds. 

"It's  remarkable,"  said  Frank,  "that  the  people  at 
Urmiston  know  Delores,  know  he  lives  somewhere 
in  this  vicinity,  yet  not  one  of  them  could  give  us  ac 
curate  directions  to  reach  his  cabin." 

"Hanged  remarkable !"  growled  Bart.  "This  is  the 
third  day  we  have  spent  in  hunting  for  his  old  place, 
and  we've  not  even  found  a  clue  to  it." 

Merry  nodded,  frowning  beneath  the  wide  brim  of 
his  hat 

"We  may  have  passed  and  repassed  it,"  he  said. 
"There  are  plenty  of  places  where  cabins  could  be 
hidden  in  these  valleys." 

"That's  right.     What  are  we  to  do?" 


92  The  Old  Indian. 

/• 

"Keep  on  hunting." 

"It's  rather  tiresome." 

"I  shall  stick  to  it  till  I  find  the  cabin  of  Delores, 
if  it  takes  a  year!"  exclaimed  Frank  grimly. 

Bart  knew  he  would  do  exactly  as  he  said. 

"Perhaps  we  may  be  disappointed  when  we  do 
find  it." 

"At  least,  I  should  be  able  to  learn  if  my  father  is 
dead,  and  where  he  is  buried." 

"But  the  message " 

"I  have  hopes  that  I  may  learn  the  secret  of  that, 
also.  It  may  be  that  he  did  not  trust  it  alone  to  that 
one  document" 

"It's  getting  late.  What  are  we  to  do  now?  Shall 
we  explore  this  valley  to-night,  or  wait  till  morn- 
ing?" 

Little  of  the  valley  could  be  seen  through  the 
narrow  pass,  and  that  little  seemed  to  promise  that  it 
led  onward  far  into  the  hills.  After  a  moment  Frank 
answered : 

"We'll  ride  forward  and  see  if  we  can  get  a  look 
into  it." 

He  started  onward,  and  Bart  followed,  but  they 
had  proceeded  only  a  short  distance  when  they  were 
startled  to  see,  sitting  on  a  boulder  at  one  side  of 
the  pass,  a  strange  figure.  At  first  it  was  hard  to 
make  out  whether  it  was  man  or  woman,  but,  as  they 


The  Old  Indian.  93 

drew  nearer,  it  straightened  up  and  revealed,  peering1 
from  the  folds  of  a  dirty  red  blanket,  the  wrinkled 
and  gnarled  face  of  an  old  Indian.  A  pair  of  beady 
black  eyes  were  steadily  regarding  the  two  young 
men. 

"Watch  him,  Merry,"  cautioned  Bart,  in  a  low  tone. 
'"These  half-civilized  red  dogs  are  treacherous." 

The  Indian  did  not  stir  as  they  approached.  Be 
side  him,  leaning  against  the  boulder,  was  a  handsome 
rifle.  He  did  not  touch  the  weapon. 

"Hello,  chief,"  said  Frank,  addressing  the  old  man 
in  a  manner  he  knew  was  flattering  to  some  redskins, 
as  he  drew  up. 

"How,  how,"  grunted  the  old  fellow,  in  answer. 

"Are  you  acquainted  in  this  vicinity?" 

"Ak-waint?"  said  the  old  man.     "No  savvy." 

"Are  you  familiar  with  the  country  ?" 

"Fam-mil?    What  him?" 

"Have  you  been  all  round  every  place  here?"  asked 
Merry,  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm,  using  the  simplest 
words  he  could  command. 

"Heap  been  all  over,"  was  the  assurance. 

"Know  Juan  Delores?" 

"Him  don't  live  round  here." 

The  answer  was  prompt  enough — a  trifle  too 
prompt,  Frank  fancied. 

"Doesn't?"  said  Merry.     "Where  does  he  live?" 


94  The  Old  Indian. 

"Heap  long  way  off  there,"  and  the  redskin  pointed 
to  the  north. 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Heap  sure." 

"How  far?     How  many  miles?" 

"Two  time  ten." 

"Twenty?" 

The  old  fellow  grunted  an  affirmative; 

"Do  you  know  the  way  to  his  place  ?" 

Another  affirmative  grunt. 

"Can  you  guide  us  there?" 

"No  time." 

"We  will  pay  you  well." 

"No  time." 

"I  will  give  you  fifty  dollars  to  guide  us  to  the  cabin 
of  Juan  Delores." 

"No  time." 

"A  hundred  dollars." 

"No  time." 

"Confound  him!"  growled  Hodge  angrily.  "Money 
is  no  object  to  him.  It's  likely  he  doesn't  know  the 
value  of  money.  Now,  if  you  had  a  quart  of  whisky 
to  offer  him,  Merriwell,  you  might  get  him  to  do  the 
job." 

"I  will  give  you  a  new  blanket  and  a  rifle,"  promised 
Merry. 

"Got  blanket  an'  rifle,"  said  the  old  Indian. 


The  Old  Indian.  95 

"I  will  give  you  a  good  horse." 

"Got  heap  good  horse." 

"What  haven't  you  got  that  you  want?" 

"No  want  nothin'." 

"Will  you  tell  us  how  to  get  to  the  cabin  of  De- 
lores?" 

"Go  there  two  time  ten  mile,  find  stream,  go  up 
him  to  spring,  take  trail  from  spring;  it  make  you 
come  to  where  Juan  he  live." 

Merriwell  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  these  direc 
tions.  There  was  something  in  the  manner  of  the  old 
redskin  that  seemed  to  arouse  his  suspicions  and  make 
him  feel  that  he  was  being  deceived.  Of  a  sudden 
Frank  asked : 

"Who  lives  in  this  valley?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"No  know,"  he  said.     "Wolf,  bear,  mebbe." 

"That's  not  what  I  mean.  Is  there  a  white  man 
who  lives  in  this  valley  ?" 

Again  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"Wolf,  bear,  that  all.  No;  big  motmt'n-lion — him 
there.  Him  kill  hunter— one,  two,  t'ree,  four  hunter 
• — what  come  for  him.  Him  vely  bad  lion — heap 
bad." 

Frank  was  watching  the  man  closely. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  looking  for!"  he  exclaimed, 
as  if  delighted.  "I  want  to  shoot  a  mountain-lion." 


96  The  Old  Indian. 

"You  no  can  shoot  him.  Big  hunter  try — no  do 
it.  Him  kill  you  heap  quick,  you  go  in  there." 

"He  is  trying  to  frighten  us  so  we'll  not  go  intc 
the  valley,"  thought  Frank.  Aloud  he  said : 

"That's  all  right;  I'll  take  chances.  I  reckon  the 
two  of  us  will  be  too  much  for  Mr.  Lion." 

"White  boy  much  foolish,"  declared  the  old  red 
skin  grimly.  "Make  big  supper  for  lion.  Lion  him 
like  white  man  for  supper." 

"And  I'll  have  the  pelt  of  that  lion  just  as  sure  as 
I  live,"  said  Merry,  as  if  in  sudden  determination. 
'"Come  on,  Bart!" 

The  old  Indian  rose  quickly  as  they  were  about  to 
start  forward. 

"Stop!"  he  cried.  "Ole  Joe  Crowfoot  him  tell 
you  truth.  If  you  go  in  there  you  never  come  back 
some  more.  Ole  Joe  Crowfoot  him  good  Injun — him 
like  white  man  heap  much.  No  want  to  see  urn  hurt. 
Tell  um  to  stay  back." 

The  old  savage  seemed  deeply  in  earnest  now,  but 
that  earnestness  was  something  that  added  to  Frank's 
suspicions  and  made  him  all  the  more  determined  to 
go  on. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Merry,  with  a  grim  smile. 
"It's  kind  of  you  to  take  so  much  interest  in  us,  but 
we're  going  after  your  heap  bad  lion,  and  we'll  have 
his  pelt." 


The  Old  Indian.  97 

"Night  come  soon,"  said  the  Indian,  with  a  motion 
toward  the  range  on  range  of  mountains  rising  to  the 
westward.  "Then  lion  him  crouch  and  spring.  Him 
git  you  quick. " 

"We'll  see.  If  you  wait  round  here  long  enough 
we'll  show  you  the  pelt  of  your  bad  lion  when  we 
come  back." 

"No  come  back,"  declared  Old  Joe  Crowfoot,  sol 
emnly.  "No  see  you  some  more.  By-by." 

An  expression  of  deep  sadness  and  regret  was  on  his 
wrinkled  old  face  as  he  uttered  the  words.  Merry 
laughed  lightly,  and  they  rode  past  him  and  headed 
onward  into  the  valley. 

"He  was  very  anxious  to  stop  us,"  said  Hodge. 

"That's  right,"  nodded  Frank.  "He  was  altogethefi 
too  anxious.  As  soon  as  I  tumbled  to  that  I  decided  to 
take  a  look  into  the  valley.  Do  you  know,  we  stum 
bled  on  the  entrance  to  this  valley  by  accident.  I  f  ancy; 
we  might  search  a  week  for  it,  if  we  were  to  go  away 
now,  without  finding  it." 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  Bart.  "It  might 
puzzle  us  to  find  it  again.  Perhaps  that  old  duffer 
was  counting  on  that  Those  red  dogs  are  treacherous, 
and " 

They  heard  a  sharp  ery  behind  them.  Whirling  in 
the  saddle,  Frank  saw  the  old  Indian  standing  wittf 
the  butt  of  his  rifle  pressed  against  his  shoulder. 


98  The  Old  Indian. 

The  muzzle  on  the  rifle  was  turned  directly  toward 
Frank,  and  plainly  the  redskin  was  on  the  point  of 
pressing  the  trigger. 

Frank  knew  he  was  in  deadly  peril,  and  he  would 
have  attempted  to  fling  himself  from  the  saddle  but 
for  something  else  he  saw. 

On  a  mass  of  jagged  rocks  behind  the  Indian  and 
about  twenty  feet  above  his  head  had  appeared  a  boy. 
Not  over  thirteen  years  of  age  was  the  lad,  whose 
curly,  dark  hair  fell  upon  his  shoulders.  He  was 
dressed  in  fanciful  garments,  like  those  worn  by  a 
young  Mexican  lad,  and  the  bright  colors  of  his 
clothes  made  him  a  picturesque  figure. 

Plainly  it  was  from  his  lips  that  the  cry  had  is 
sued. 

In  his  hand  the  boy  held  a  stone  as  large  as  a  man's 
fist,  and  even  as  Merry  turned  he  hurled  the  stone. 
Straight  through  the  air  whizzed  the  missile,  stri 
king  the  barrel  of  the  old  Indian's  rifle. 

Smoke  belched  from  the  muzzle  of  the  weapon  and 
the  crags  flung  back  the  sound  of  the  report,  but  the 
bullet  flew  wild. 

Frank  Merri well's  life  had  been  saved  by  the  stone 
thrown  by  the  strange  boy. 

With  an  exclamation  of  rage,  Hodge  snatched  up 
his  rifle  and  reined  his  mount  round  to  take  a  shot  at 
the  redskin,  who  had  wheeled  instantly  and  was 


The  Old  Indian.  99 

clambering  up  the  rocks  toward  the  boy,  as  if  tent  on 
murder. 

"Soak  him,  Merry!"  panted  Bart. 

Frank's  first  impulse  was  to  shoot,  but  he  quickly 
saw  that  he  was  in  no  further  danger  just  then,  and 
he  had  no  desire  to  shed  human  blood  unless  com 
pelled  to  do  so. 

Bart's  rifle  rose,  but  Merry  thrust  the  muzzle  aside 
just  as  the  weapon  spoke,  and  the  bullet  flattened  on 
the  rocks. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  roared  Hodge,  in  amaze 
ment  and  anger.  "Can't  you  see!  That  red  devil  is 
going  to  murder  the  kid !" 

It  did  seem  that  the  Indian  meant  the  boy  harm,  and 
Merry  shouted : 

"If  you  put  a  hand  on  that  boy  I'll  bore  you !" 

At  the  same  time  he  held  his  own  rifle  ready  for  in 
stant  use. 

Old  Joe  Crowfoot  seemed  either  not  to  hear  or  to 
be  too  enraged  to  heed.  Like  a  mountain  goat,  he 
raced  upward  over  the  rocks  and  hastened  straight  to 
ward  the  boy.  But,  what  was  strangest  of  all,  the  boy 
made  no  effort  to  escape,  nor  did  he  seem  at  all  fright 
ened.  Instead,  he  seemed  to  stand  and  await  the  ap 
proach  of  the  Indian. 

Frank  and  Bart  were  surprised  by  this,  but  they 
.were  still  more  surprised  by  what  followed.  The  In- 


loo  The  Old  Indian. 

dian  reached  the  boy  and  quickly  clutched  him.  Then, 
with  a  swift  swing,  the  strange  old  redskin  swept  the 
lad  round  behind  him  and  up  to  his  back.  The  arms  of 
the  boy  immediately  clasped  about  the  Indian's  neck, 
while  his  legs  twined  round  the  old  fellow's  body,  and 
there  he  hung  pickapack  fashion. 

Scarcely  had  Old  Joe  Crowfoot  paused  in  his  up 
ward  race.  When  Frank  and  Bart  had  confronted 
him  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley  both  had  fancied  him 
old  and  rather  feeble,  but  now  he  seemed  to  have  the 
strength  of  a  youth  and  the  agility  of  a  mountain-goat. 
Having  swung  the  boy  to  his  back,  he  continued  to 
clamber  upward  over  the  rocks  as  if  quite  unimpeded 
by  his  burden. 

"Well,"  gasped  Hodge,  "if  that  doesn't  beat  the  old 
boy  himself!" 

Merry  was  no  less  amazed.  To  both  it  had  seemed 
that  the  old  Indian  meditated  doing  the  boy  harm  as  he 
clambered  toward  him,  but  the  youngster  had  betrayed 
no  fear,  although  his  hand  flung  the  missile  that  des 
troyed  Old  Joe's  aim  and  saved  Frank  Merriwell's 
life. 

"He's  running  off  with  the  boy !"  palpitated  Bart 

"And  the  boy  is  perfectly  willing,"  said  Merry. 

"But  the  kid  threw  the  stone  at  the  old  duffer." 

"For  which  I  am  very  thankful,  as  it  is  certain  the 
old  duffer  meant  to  perforate  me." 


The  Old  Indian.  101 

Then  they  sat  there  on  their  horses  and  watched  till 
the  old  Indian  and  his  remarkable  burden  disappeared 
amid  the  rocks.  Just  before  vanishing  from  view,  Old 
Joe  Crowfoot  paused,  turned  and  looked  down  on  the 
boys.  Then  he  made  a  gesture  that  seemed  to  be  one 
of  warning.  The  boy,  still  clinging  to  the  back  of  his 
peculiar  companion,  took  off  his  wide  hat  and  waved  it 
gaily.  A  moment  later  they  were  gone. 

Frank  and  Bart  sat  there,  staring  upward  and  re 
maining  silent  for  some  moments.  At  last  Merriwell 
said: 

"Well,  that  little  affair  is  over.  Let's  move  along 
and  see  what  will  happen  next." 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  muttered  Hodge,  in  disap 
pointed  perplexity. 

"Nor  do  I,"  confessed  Frank  cheerfully. 

"It's  strange." 

"Mighty  strange." 

"A  white  boy  and  an  Indian." 

"Companions  beyond  a  doubt." 

"Yet  the  boy  threw  a  stone  at  the  Indian." 

"I  believe  he  threw  the  stone  to  hit  the  Indian's 
rifle,  a  feat  he  accomplished.  I  do  not  think  he  in 
tended  to  hit  the  Indian.  Anyhow,  I  owe  him  my  life, 
and  I  am  grateful." 

For  a  few  minutes  longer  they  remained  there,  dis 
cussing  what  had  happened,  and  then  Merry  again 


102  The  Old  Indian. 

led  the  way  into  the  valley.  As  they  advanced  it  slowly 
broadened  before  them.  The  valley  was  eight  or  ten 
miles  in  length,  and  a  stream  ran  through  it,  disap 
pearing  into  a  narrow  gorge.  Near  the  head  of  the 
valley  was  a  pretty  little  lake,  with  timber  about  it. 
In  the  valley  were  to  be  seen  a  few  grazing  cattle,  yet 
from  their  position  the  boys  could  see  no  ranch-house. 

"But  I'm  certain  somebody  lives  here,"  said  Frank. 
"The  sight  of  the  cattle  convinces  me  of  that." 

They  soon  found  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  ride 
clown  into  the  valley  from  that  point,  but  they  dis 
covered  a  dimly  defined  trail,  which  they  ventured  to 
follow.  Fortunately  the  hardy  little  mustangs  were 
steady  and  sure  of  foot,  for  there  were  points  where 
it  seemed  that  no  horse  could  go  down  without  fall 
ing. 

The  little  beasts  squatted  on  their  haunches  more 
than  once  and  literally  slid  along  till  they  could  recover 
themselves. 

Bart  had  his  teeth  set,  and  no  word  came  from  his 
lips,  as  he  was  ready  and  determined  to  follow  wher 
ever  Merriwell  led.  No  accident  happened,  and  the 
level  of  the  valley  was  reached.  Then  they  headed 
toward  the  lake  at  the  upper  end. 

The  sun  was  dropping  behind  the  western  peaks 
when  they  entered  a  strip  of  timber  that  lay  across 
their  path  in  the  vicinity  of  the  lake. 


The  Old  Indian.  103 

THe  cattle  they  had  passed  gave  them  little  notice, 
convincing  them  that  they  were  accustomed  to  the 
presence  and  sight  of  mounted  riders.  The  timber  was 
open,  yet  they  were  unable  to  ride  through  it  at  a 
swift  pace,  as  they  had  not  entered  on  a  regular  trail. 
When  they  had  proceeded  a  considerable  distance  they 
came  at  last  upon  a  path.  In  the  deepening  gloom  it 
was  not  easy  to  make  out  if  it  was  a  horse-trail  or  a 
foot-path. 

As  they  reached  this  path,  Frank  suddenly  pulledi 
up,  uttering  a  soft  word  of  warning. 

"Stop,  Hodge!"  he  said.  "I  thought  I  heard  some 
thing." 

Bart  stopped  promptly,  and  they  sat  there,  motion 
less  and  listening.  At  first  they  heard  no  sound  save 
the  breathing  of  their  mounts.  Bart  was  about  to 
speak,  when  Merry  lifted  his  hand. 

Straining  their  ears,  they  distinctly  made  out  the 
sound  of  swift  footsteps,  which  were  approaching. 
Hodge  gripped  the  butt  of  a  revolver  and  drew  it  from 
its  holster.  A  moment  later  the  silence  of  the  gloomy 
timber  was  broken  by  a  sound  that  sent  the  blood  leap 
ing  to  their  hearts. 

"Help!    Oh,  oh— help!" 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  child  in  great  fear  and  distress. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     KIDNAPED     GIRL. 

"Choke  off  the  kid,  Bill !  Are  you  crazy,  to  let  her 
screech  like  that?" 

The  command  came  quick  and  sharp  and  sup 
pressed. 

"Hanged  ef  I  like  this  yar  business  of  chokin' 
babbys!  I  wouldn't  mind  ef  she  wuz  a  man." 

The  retort  was  growled  forth  in  a  gruff  bass  voice. 
Two  dark  forms  were  seen  coming  along  the  path. 
One  of  them,  the  one  in  advance,  carried  in  his  arms 
a  little  girl  of  twelve. 

The  ruffians  did  not  observe  Frank  and  Bart  until 
they  were  quite  close.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  as  the  big 
fellow  in  advance  halted,  uttering  a  startled  oath, 
Merriwell's  clear  voice  rang  out: 

"Drop  that  child,  you  whelps,  or  we'll  drop  you." 

The  man  behind  made  a  quick  movement,  and  Frank 
flung  himself  from  the  saddle.  It  was  well  Merry  did 
so,  for  the  man  had  whipped  out  a  revolver  and  fired 
over  the  shoulder  of  his  companion,  the  bullet  whistling 
past  Frank's  ear  as  he  dropped. 

"Got  him!"  grated  the  man,  evidently  believing  he 
bad  shot  the  youth.  "Down  goes  the  other  one  1" 


The  Kidnaped  GirL  105 

Bart  had  a  revolver  in  his  grasp,  but,  in  the  gloom 
of  the  timber,  he  had  refrained  from  firing,  fearing  to 
injure  the  girl,  who  now  uttered  another  cry  for  help. 

But  Hodge  knew  he  was  in  danger,  and  he  feared 
Frank  had  been  hit  by  the  shot  of  the  ruffian.  He 
ducked  beside  the  neck  of  his  horse  and  was  barely  in 
time  to  save  his  life,  for  another  flash  of  fire  punc 
tured  the  shadows,  another  report  rang  through  the 
timber,  and  the  second  bullet  cut  a  hole  through  the  hat 
of  the  dark- faced  youth. 

Then  Hodge  saw  Merriwell  leaping  straight  at  the 
ruffian  in  advance,  and  he  knew  Frank  was  not  se 
riously  hurt.  With  a  shout  of  relief  and  satisfaction, 
Bart  sprang  to  the  ground  and  jumped  after  Frank. 

"Give  it  to  the  dogs,  Merry!"  he  exclaimed. 

Merriwell  was  on  the  big  ruffian  in  a  moment.  The 
man  had  swung  the  child  under  his  arms,  and  he 
brought  forth  a  revolver  as  Frank  came  up. 

The  young  athlete  ducked  and  struck  out,  and  the 
revolver  was  sent  spinning  from  the  grasp  of  the 
wretch,  being  discharged  as  it  flew  through  the  air. 

Then  Merry  was  on  the  scoundrel  and  the  ruffian 
was  forced  to  drop  the  child  and  meet  the  attack  of  the 
fearless  youth. 

Hodge  went  past  like  a  leaping  panther,  but  the 
other  man  had  darted  behind  a  tree  and  melted  away 
amid  the  underbrush  in  a  most  surprising  manner,  and 


106  The  Kidnaped  Girl. 

while  Bart  slashed  about  in  search  of  the  fellow  who 
had  disappeared,  Merriwell  fought  the  other,  who  was 
a  gigantic  man  of  remarkable  strength. 

The  child  had  crept  away  a  short  distance,  where  it 
crouched  on  the  ground,  watching  the  battle  in  fas 
cination  and  fear. 

"Dern  yer !"  growled  the  ruffian.  "Whatever  do  ye 
mean  by  botherin'  two  peaceable  gents  in  this  yar 
way?" 

"We  mean  business,"  answered  Frank. 

"Waal,  danged  ef  I  don't  cut  yer  inter  ribbons !"  de 
clared  the  giant,  as  he  made  a  movement  and  wrenched 
forth  a  knife. 

Frank  moved  swiftly,  and  was  barely  in  time  to 
fasten  his  fingers  on  the  wrist  of  the  murderous 
wretch. 

"No,  you  don't!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  object  to  any 
thing  of  the  sort!" 

"Object  and  be  dished!"  came  from  the  other. 
"Why,  do  you  think  yer  kin  hold  that  yar  hand  ?  Ye' re 
nothin'  but  a  kid !" 

Then  the  ruffian  made  a  furious,  wrenching  twist 
to  get  his  hand  free,  but,  to  his  surprise,  the  grip  of 
the  beardless  youth  was  like  steel,  and  he  failed  ut 
terly  in  his  attempt. 

This  was  the  fellow's  first  surprise ;  others  followed 
swiftly. 


The  Kidnaped  Girl.  107 

"What's  this?"  he  howled,  in  fury.  "Dang  my 
fioof  s !  kin  you  hang  on  that  way  ?" 

"You'll  find  I'm  something  of  a  sticker,"  laughed 
Frank. 

Now,  the  other  did  not  know  that  when  Frank  Mer- 
riwell  laughed  in  that  peculiar  manner  he  was  the  most 
dangerous,  and  he  fancied  the  youth  thought  the  affair 
not  at  all  serious. 

"I'll  git  him  in  a  minute,"  the  ruffian  mentally  de 
cided,  "an'  I'll  give  him  the  length  of  this  yar  toad- 
sticker,  which'll  convince  him  that  this  is  a  mighty  sad 
world,  I  reckon." 

But  though  he  made  another  furious  attempt  to  get 
his  hand  free,  the  fingers  of  the  youth  were  like  riveted 
bands.  Then  the  ruffian  grew  still  more  angry. 

"Double  dern  yer!"  he  panted.  "You  kin  hang  on, 
so  I  reckon  I'll  just  have  ter  break  yer  back!" 

Then  he  tried  to  fling  Frank  to  the  ground,  but 
Merry  used  a  wrestling-trip,  and  the  man  went  down 
instead.  In  the  fall  the  grip  of  the  youth  was  almost 
broken,  and,  with  a  snarl  of  satisfaction,  the  ruffian 
twisted  his  wrist  free. 

Then  he  swung  back  his  hand  to  drive  that  terri 
ble  knife  to  the  hilt  between  Merry's  ribs.  But  Frank 
knew  his  danger,  and,  like  a  flash,  he  had  the  thick, 
hairy  wrist  again  in  his  clutch. 

The  man  swore  and  tried  to  fling  his  youthful  an- 


io8  The  Kidnaped  Girl. 

tagonist  off,  but  he  found  he  could  not  do  so  and  re 
tain  his  hold  on  the  knife.  Then  he  relinquished  the 
knife  and  put  every  effort  into  the  struggle  to  hurl 
Merry  aside. 

The  little  girl,  on  her  knees  by  the  foot  of  a  great 
tree,  watched  this  fearful  battle  with  distended  eyes. 

Bart  Hodge  was  still  beating  about  for  the  man 
who  had  so  cleverly  vanished  in  the  gloom.  There  was 
a  sudden  report,  as  fire  belched  from  a  tangled  thicket, 
and  a  bullet  grazed  Bart's  cheek. 

Hodge  dropped,  knowing  now  the  other  man  had 
sought  shelter,  and  waited  till  he  felt  that  he  could 
bring  one  of  the  youths  down  with  a  sure  shot.  Evi 
dently  the  man  believed  he  had  succeeded,  for  he  rose 
to  his  feet,  so  that  Bart  obtained  a  glimpse  of  him. 

In  his  impatient  rage,  Hodge  did  not  wait  for  the 
fellow  to  advance,  but  he  took  a  quick  aim  and  fired 
immediately.  Down  went  the  man. 

"Soaked  him!"  said  Bart  grimly.  "He  brought  it 
on  himself." 

Then  he  lifted  himself  to  his  feet.  It  was  Bart's 
turn  to  meet  with  surprise,  for  again  from  the  thicket 
came  a  flash  of  fire,  and  this  time  Hodge  felt  some 
thing  burn  and  sting  in  his  shoulder. 

With  a  shout  of  fury,  Hodge  leaped  straight  to 
ward  the  thicket,  into  which  he  fearlessly  plunged, 
reckless  of  his  life. 


The  Kidnaped  Girl.  109 

But  when  he  reached  the  spot  where  he  believed  the 
enemy  must  be,  he  found  no  one  there.  The  desperado 
had  slipped  away  as  Hodge  came  leaping  toward  the 
spot,  being  aided  to  escape  by  the  deepening  dark 
ness. 

Finding  the  man  was  not  there,  the  conviction  came 
on  Hodge  that  he  was  crouching  near,  waiting  to  ob 
tain  another  shot,  which  he  would  take  care  to  make 
sure.  Then  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  overcame 
Bart's  great  fury,  and  he  crouched  close  to  the  ground, 
holding  his  revolver  ready,  while  he  peered  about  in 
the  gloom  and  listened. 

Not  far  away  the  battle  between  Frank  and  the 
giant  ruffian  was  still  raging  fiercely. 

With  every  sense  on  the  alert,  Bart  squatted  there, 
ready  to  shoot  or  spring.  His  nerves  were  tingling, 
but  he  did  his  best  to  be  steady  and  cool.  An  encounter 
of  this  sort,  however,  was  something  to  unsteady  the 
nerves  of  almost  any  man,  and  it  was  not  at  all  strange 
that  Bart  found  himself  shaking  somewhat  as  he  re 
mained  motionless  and  waiting. 

The  breathing  of  the  floundering  giant  who  was  try 
ing  to  conquer  Merriwell  sounded  hoarsely  through 
the  gloom,  and  there  was  something  awesome  in  it. 
Suddenly  the  sounds  stopped.  The  struggle  seemed  to 
be  ended.  Who  had  conquered? 

At  the  risk  of  betraying  his  position  to  the  man 


no  The  Kidnaped  Girl. 

who  might  be  waiting  to  shoot  at  him,  Bart  ventured 
to  call : 

"Merriwell!" 

Hodge's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  joy  when  Frank's 
voice  answered : 

"Here!    Are  you  all  right?" 

"Sure  thing!    And  you?" 

"Well,  I've  succeeded  in  quieting  this  chap,  though 
he  did  put  up  an  awful  fight" 

"Look  out  for  the  other!" 

"Then  he  is " 

."He's  around  here  somewhere.  I  popped  at  him 
two  or  three  times,  but  I  didn't  bag  him." 

Crouching  low,  Bart  moved  as  quietly  as  he  could 
toward  Frank,  still  ready  to  shoot  instantly.  But  in 
the  gloom  no  pistol  flashed,  and  no  deadly  bullet  sang 
through  the  timber. 

Bart  found  Merriwell  with  his  arm  about  the  fright 
ened  child,  while  near-by,  on  the  ground,  lay  the  body 
of  the  giant,  sprawling  grotesquely. 

"Have  you  killed  him?"  asked  Hodge,  looking  down 
at  the  silent  ruffian. 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Frank. 

"Afraid  ?"  exclaimed  the  dark-faced  youtfc. 

"Yes." 

"Why  afraid?" 

"I  have  no  desire  to  kill  anybody." 


The  Kidnaped  Girl.  ill 

"But  this  murderous  dog " 

"Not  even  a  human  being  of  his  caliber." 
"Well,"  said  Hodge  grimly,  "I  did  my  level  best  to 
bore  the  other  cur,  and  my  conscience  would  not  have 
troubled  me  had  I  succeeded     How  did  you  do  this 
one?" 

"He  had  wonderful  strength  and  wind,  and  he 
thrashed  round  to  beat  the  band.  I  was  forced  to  be 
at  my  best  all  the  time,  and  I  hurled  him  back  re 
peatedly  after  he  had  partly  succeeded  in  rising  with 
me.  The  last  time  I  did  so  his  head  struck  against 
the  exposed  root  of  that  tree,  and  it  doubled  under  him 
with  a  snap  like  a  pistol-shot.  Then  he  was  limp  as 
a  rag,  and  the  fight  was  over,  so  far  as  he  was  con 
cerned." 

Bart  caught  the  ruffian  by  the  shoulders  and  partly 
lifted  him.  Then  he  let  the  fellow  drop  back,  a  slight 
shiver  running  over  him. 

"Neck  broken!"  he  said  shortly. 
"Broken!"  exclaimed  Frank.     "As  bad  as  that?" 
"Sure  thing!"  said  Hodge.     "He  won't  try  to  kid 
nap  any  more  children,  for  I  reckon  that  was  what 
they  were  doing  with  this  one." 

Frank  turned  his  attention  to  the  child  once  more, 
while  Bart  looked  after  the  tired  mustangs.  As  he 
approached  the  animals,  a  figure  suddenly  sprang  out 
of  the  gloom  and  onto  the  back  of  one  of  them.  There 


112  The  Kidnaped  Girl. 

was  a  yell,  and  away  dashed  the  animal  along  the  path, 
bearing  the  ruffian  who  had  escaped. 

Hodge  took  a  shot  at  the  fellow,  and  then,  finding 
the  man  still  clung  to  the  mustang,  having  disappeared 
in  the  gloom,  he  fired  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  Still  the  mustang  fled  on  with  its  burden,  and 
Bart  muttered  an  exclamation  of  rage. 

The  other  animal  had  been  alarmed  by  this,  and  Bart 
found  some  trouble  in  approaching  the  creature, 
though  he  finally  succeeded  in  capturing  him. 

"Well,  Merriwell,"  he  said,  as  he  returned,  leading 
the  single  mount,  "we've  lost  one  of  our  beasts." 

Frank  had  been  trying  to  allay  the  fears  of  the 
trembling  child,  and  he  simply  made  a  gesture  for  Bart 
to  be  quiet,  which  was  seen  and  understood,  for  all  of 
the  fast-deepening  shadows. 

"We  will  not  harm  you,"  Merry  was  saying,  in  a 
soft,  gentle  way.  "You  need  have  no  further  fear. 
What  is  your  name?" 

"Felicia,"  was  the  low  answer.  "But  Old  Joe  calls 
me  Star  Eyes." 

"Felicia — what  a  pretty  name!"  said  Frank.  "And 
these  bad  men  were  carrying  you  off?" 

"Yes.    Please  take  me  home." 

"We'll  do  that,  little  Felicia.  Your  home  is  here,  in 
the  valley?" 


The  Kidnaped  Girl.  113 

"Yes,  sir.  It's  in  the  Black  Woods,  by  Lake  Sun 
shine." 

"Lake  Sunshine  ?  Another  pretty  name !  What  do 
you  call  the  valley?" 

"Pleasant  Valley." 

"And  that  is  a  pretty  name,  too." 

"My  mama  named  the  lake,  and  the  valley,  and  the 
woods.  But  now  she's  gone." 

"Gone?" 

"Yes,  and  papa  says  she's  gone  to  a  beautifuletf 
world  than  this,  though  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  it  can 
be  true,  and  I  know  just  where  papa  put  her  in  the 
ground  when  she  died.  I  was  there  putting  flowers 
on  her  grave,  and  the  grave  of  the  Good  Stranger, 
when  those  bad  men  grabbed  me  and  carried  me 
away." 

Frank  felt  a  queer  thrill. 

"The .Good  Stranger?"  he  said.    "Who  was  that?" 

"Oh,  I  loved  him,  and  Dick  loved  him,  and  we  all 
loved  him,  for  he  was  so  kind.  But  the  fever  took 
him,  and  he  died,  too.  He  is  buried  near  my 
mama." 

"What  was  his  name?" 

"I  don't  know.  Old  Joe  called  him  White  Beardj 
but  I  just  called  him  uncle." 

"How  long  ago  was  it  that  he  died?" 

"More  than  a  week,  now.    Papa  buried  him,  too." 


H4  The  Kidnaped  Girl. 

Bart's  hand  fell  on  the  shoulder  of  Frank,  who  was 
kneeling,  with  one  arm  about  the  little  girl.  That 
touch  told  that  Hodge  was  beginning  to  realize  just 
what  Merry's  questions  were  leading  to,  which  filled 
him  with  eagerness, 

"What  is  your  papa's  name?"  asked  Merry,  and  then 
held  his  breath  as  he  waited  for  the  answer. 

"I  just  call  him  papa,"  said  the  child.  "Please  take 
me  to  him.  He  will  be  so  sorry  when  he  finds  I'm  not 
at  home." 

"In  a  moment  we'll  take  you  to  him.  You  call  him 
papa,  but  what  do  others  call  him?" 

"Nobody  ever  comes  here  much,  except  Old  Joe,  and 
he  calls  my  papa  Silent  Tongue." 

"Who  is  Old  Joe?" 

"A  good  Indian." 

Merry  started  a  bit,  and  then  quickly  asked : 

"Do  you  mean  Old  Joe  Crowfoot?" 

"Papa  calls  him  Crowfoot  sometimes.  Please  take 
me  to  my  papa," 

"The  scent  grows  hot!"  muttered  Hodge. 

"And  did  you  never  hear  your  father  called  any 
thing  but  Silent  Tongue?  What  did  your  mother  call 
him?" 

"Most  times  she  called  him  dearest,  but  sometimes 
she  called  him " 


The  Kidnaped  Girl.  115 

**Yes,  yes — she  called  him  what?" 

"Juan." 

"I  knew  it!"  broke  from  Hodge.  "We're  on  the 
{right  trail,  Merry !" 

"At  last!"  exclaimed  Frank,  in  deep  satisfaction. 
"Little  Felicia,  we'll  take  you  to  your  father  without 
delay." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

JUAN     DELO  RES. 

They  left  the  big  ruffian  lying  there  in  the  darkness, 
of  the  timber.  Little  Felicia  was  placed  on  the  back  of 
the  mustang,  beside  which  Frank  walked,  while  Bart 
led  the  way  along  the  path. 

Having  passed  from  the  dark  timber,  they  came  out 
near  the  pretty  little  lake,  which  was  reflecting  the 
golden  glory  of  the  lingering  sunset,  flung  up  against 
the  mountain-bordered  sky.  The  crimson  and  amber 
and  purple  were  fading  from  the  heavens  as  the  somber 
wing  of  night  spread  over  the  world. 

"There  are  the  Black  Woods,"  said  the  little  girl, 
as  she  indicated  a  thick  mass  of  trees  near  the  head  of 
the  valley.  "My  home  is  in  there." 

By  the  dying  light  Frank  made  out  that  she  was 
very  pretty,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes.  She  had  a  sweet 
voice. 

"Felicia,"  he  thought,  as  they  made  their  way  to 
ward  the  woods.  "The  name  seems  to  fit  her.  It 
seems  strange  to  find  such  a  child  here." 

Merry  was  restraining  the  impatience  that  beset  him, 
for  now  he  felt  that  he  was  near  the  end  of  his  long 
search.  He  had  no  doubt  that  the  Good  Stranger 


Juan  Delores.  117 

spoken  of  by  the  child  was  his  father,  who  fiad  died 
there  in  that  wild  but  beautiful  spot — died  as  he  had 
lived,  strangely. 

There  was  a  mystery  to  be  unfolded,  and  Frank  was 
determined  to  clear  it  up,  if  possible. 

"Up  there,"  said  Felicia,  with  a  gesture,  "is  the 
place  where  my  mama  and  the  Good  Stranger  are 
buried." 

Frank  was  near  the  grave  of  his  father,  he  believed. 
It  was  too  late  to  visit  it  then ;  besides,  Merry  felt  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  take  the  child  home  without  delay. 
Felicia  had  explained  that  her  father  was  away  at  the 
time  when  the  men  came  upon  her  and  carried  her 
away,  having  left  some  hours  before,  saying  he  would 
return  ere  nightfall,  and  warning  her  to  stay  close  to 
her  cabin  home. 

As  they  approached  the  Black  Woods  they  could 
discern  the  dark  opening  where  the  trail  entered. 
There  the  track  was  plain  beneath  their  feet.  But  when 
they  were  yet  a  little  distance  from  the  woods  a  stern 
voice  cried  from  the  darkness  of  the  shadows: 

"Halt,  dere!" 

Bart  stopped,  his  hand  flying  to  the  butt  of  his  re 
volver.  His  rifle,  swinging  from  the  saddle  of  his 
mustang,  had  been  lost  when  the  escaping  ruffian  rode 
madly  away  on  the  beast. 

"Don't  try  to  draw  da  gun!"  came  the  voice  from 


Ii8  Juan  Delores. 

the  woods.  "Shoot  mighty  quick  if  you  do!  Up  with 
da  hands !" 

"It's  papa!"  exclaimed  little  Felicia.    "Papa!  papa!" 

Bart  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  lifted  his  hands, 

"T'other  one  put  up  da  hands,"  came  the  voice. 

"We  are  friends,"  declared  Frank  quietly.  "We 
have  just  saved  your  child  from  the  hands  of  ruffians." 

"Put  up  da  hands!"  ordered  the  voice,  and  there 
was  a  clicking  that  seemed  to  tell  of  a  rifle  being 
cocked.  I'll  shoot  if  you  don't!" 

Merry  stood  up  boldly,  facing  the  point  from  which 
the  voice  came,  fearlessly  saying: 

"If  you  shoot,  you  will  fire  on  those  who  have  saved 
your  child,  which  will  prove  you  a  dastard.  I  refuse 
to  be  held  up  road-agent  style,  and  shall  not  lift  my 
hands.  Fire  if  you  will !" 

Silence  for  a  moment,  and  then,  quick  as  thought, 
the  child  leaned  over  and  put  her  arms  about  Merry's 
neck,  crying: 

"Don't,  papa — don't !  He  beat  the  big,  bad  man  wh* 
was  carrying  me  away !" 

Another  silence,  and  then  the  voice  called : 

"Felicia!" 

"Papa!" 

"Get  off  dat  horse  and  come  here  quiclc-a !" 

She  seemed  to  hesitate,  and  then  she  tightened  Be* 
arms  about  Frank's  neck,  murmuring  in  his  ear : 


Juan  Delores.  119 

"Don't  be  afraid.     I'll  not  let  my  papa  hurt  you." 

A  second  later  she  had  slipped  to  the  ground  and 
was  running  toward  the  dark  woods,  into  which  she 
disappeared. 

Frank  and  Bart  stood  waiting  what  was  to  follow. 
The  sound  of  murmuring  voices  came  from  amid  the 
grim  old  trees,  and  the  child  was  heard  relating  to  her 
father  the  story  of  her  thrilling  and  exciting  ad 
ventures.  But  it  seemed  that  the  man  meditated  upon 
the  proper  course  to  pursue,  for  she  was  forced  to  plead 
with  him  in  behalf  of  Frank  and  Bart. 

"They  are  good,  papa — I  know  they  are,"  they 
heard  her  declare.  "The  one  who  fought  so  hard  for 
me  with  the  great,  big,  bad  man  is  just  as  kind  and 
gentle." 

After  a  time  the  man  came  forth  from  the  dark 
ness,  leading  the  child  by  the  hand,  while  he  carried 
his  rifle  in  his  other  hand.  He  seemed  to  be  keenly 
on  the  alert,  as  if  he  did  not  trust  the  strangers,  for  all 
of  the  words  of  his  child. 

"I  have  to  t'ank  you,"  he  said,  with  an  accent,  "for 
what  you  have  done.  My  little  Felicia,  she  tell  me. 
She  is  all  I  have  left  now.  When  I  come  on  my  way 
home  and  hear  da  shooting,  my  heart  it  jump  like  a 
frog  into  my  mouth-a.  I  run  home  quick  as  I  can,  and 
call,  call,  call  for  her.  She  do  not  answer.  Den  I 
t'ink  somet'ing  have  happen  to  her,  and  I  start  to  run 


120  Juan  Delores. 

dis  way  fast.  When  I  come  here  to  da  edge  of  da 
woods  I  see  you  coming  dis  way,  and  I  stop.  You 
bring  my  little  Felicia  back-a  to  me,  and  I  t'ank 
you." 

The  child  seemed  to  look  at  her  father  in  surprise, 
as  if  she  were  not  accustomed  to  hearing  him  speak 
thus  freely. 

"We  are  happy  to  be  of  service  to  you  and  little 
Felicia,  Mr.  Delores,"  said  Merry  quietly. 

The  man  was  seen  to  start  a  bit,  while  he  gripped 
his  rifle  still  harder. 

"You  know  my  name  ?"  he  said,  a  bit  harshly. 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

"We  have  come  far  to  find  you." 

This  seemed  to  put  him  more  than  ever  on  his 
guard. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"The  story  is  rather  long,"  said  Merry.  "There  is 
no  chance  for  us  to  get  out  of  this  valley  to-night. 
Take  us  to  your  home  and  I  will  tell  you  everything. 
I  do  not  think  you  will  regret  it." 

"Why  should  I  do  dat?    You  are  strangers." 

"That  is  true,  but  you  knew  Charles  Merriwell." 

Frank  looked  straight  and  hard  at  the  man  as  he 
uttered  the  words,  but,  to  his  surprise,  the  father  of 


Juan  Delores.  ill 

little  Felicia  did  not  betray  emotion  of  any  oort — or 
the  darkness  hid  his  betrayal. 

"Charles  Merriwell?"  he  said.     "Who  you  mean?" 

"The  Good  Stranger,  who  lies  buried  over  yon 
der." 

"What  you  know  'bout  him  ?" 

"He  was  my  father." 

Little  Felicia  gave  a  cry,  but  the  man  simply  said:. 

"How  you  prove  dat?" 

"I  can  prove  it.  I  am  Frank  Merriwell,  well  known 
in  New  Haven,  where  I  have  been  at  college.  This  is 
my  friend  Bart  Hodge,  who  will  tell  you  whatever  you 
Svish  to  know  about  me." 

"But  I  know  not'ing  of  him.  Dat  be  no  proof. 
Have  you  de  word  ?" 

"The  word?" 

"Dat's  what  I  ask." 

Frank  was  forced  to  confess  that  he  did  not  know 
[what  Juan  Delores  meant  by  "the  word." 

"Den  you  be  not  Frank  Merriwell!"  positively  de 
clared  the  man. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  'the  word.' ' 
Merry  said,  "but  I  assure  you  that  you  are  wrong 
about  me  not  being  Frank  Merriwell." 

"He  would  come  with  da  word." 

"Then  you  have  been  expecting  him  if* 

"I  no  say  so." 


122  Juan  Delores. 

"But  you  have  the  same  as  said  so.  There  has  been 
a  failure  of  the  plans,  Mr.  Delores,  and  that  is  why  I 
do  not  come  with  the  word  you  expect.  I  will  explain 
everything  to  you  if  you  will  give  me  a  chance." 

"Why  should  I  trust-a  you  ?" 

"Your  daughter,  safe  at  your  side,  answers  that 
question." 

"Follow  me,"  said  Juan  Delores,  turning  about 

Frank  had  won,  and  he  followed,  Bart  striding  along1 
at  his  side,  saying  nothing,  but  thinking  a  great  deal. 
They  entered  the  Black  Woods  by  the  dark  trail,  which 
it  was  now  difficult  to  follow,  proceeding  till  they  came 
to  a  cabin  in  the  very  midst  of  the  growth.  No  light 
gleamed  from  the  cabin,  but  Delores  said : 

"Dis  my  home.  Felicia,  you  take  da  stranger  in  da 
house  and  make  da  light.  I  take  da  horse.  I  come 
prit'  quick." 

Frank  surrendered  the  mustang  to  the  man,  and 
then  they  followed  little  Felicia  into  the  cabin,  won 
dering  why  the  home  had  been  built  in  the  midst  of 
that  gloomy  growth  of  trees. 

The  child  found  matches  and  lighted  an  oil-lamp 
which  stood  on  a  table  in  the  living-room — the  room 
they  had  entered.  The  light  showed  them  a  comforta 
bly,  even  tastily,  furnished  room,  much  to  their  sur 
prise.  It  was  small,  but  the  walls  were  tinted  blue,  the 
floor  carpeted,  and  the  furniture  was  good.  There 


Juan  Delores.  123 

were  handsome  paintings  on  the  walls,  while  at  the  two 
windows  were  lace  curtains.  A  handsome  piano  stood 
in  one  comer  of  the  room,  opposite  an  open  fireplace 
of  stone. 

Both  Bart  and  Frank  were  surprised,  and  they  ex 
changed  glances  which  told  each  other  their  feelings. 

By  the  light  of  the  lamp,  Merry  saw  that  little 
Felicia  was  pretty,  indeed,  with  a  dark,  oval  face,  and 
snowy  white  teeth. 

"Let  me  take  your  hats,"  she  said,  smiling  at  them. 
"Sit  down.  Papa  will  be  right  in." 

They  sat  down,  and  Merry,  finding  a  guitar,  soon 
occupied  himself.  Having  tightened  the  strings  and 
put  the  instrument  in  tune,  he  strummed  lightly  upon 
it,  singing  a  soft  little  song  to  the  girl,  who  came  and 
stood  near,  her  hands  clasped,  looking  at  him  ear 
nestly. 

While  Merry  was  singing,  Juan  Delores  came  to  the 
door  and  paused  a  moment.  He  looked  in  and  beheld 
the  spectacle.  It  reassured  him  and  banished  his  fears. 
When  he  came  in  he  closed  and  bolted  the  door. 

"I  see  you  make  yorse'f  at  home,"  he  said.    "Good !" 

He  was  a  man  with  a  Spanish  face  and  deep,  dark 
eyes.  His  face  was  not  exactly  handsome,  and  yet 
about  it  there  was  something  fascinating.  He  had  a 
mustache  and  imperial,  which  had  once  been  coal- 
black,  but  were  now  heavily  mixed  with  gray. 


124  Juan  Delores. 

Delores  had  studied  Merriwell's  face  as  he  stood 
outside  the  door,  and  what  he  saw  seemed  to  restore 
his  confidence.  Surely,  this  frank-appearing  youth 
who  was  singing  to  Felicia  could  not  be  very  bad. 

But,  when  he  looked  at  Bart,  Delores  was  not  so 
sure,  for  the  face  of  Hodge  was  not  one  so  easily 
read. 

Felicia  clapped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  that's  a  fine  song!"  she  cried. 

"You  like  music,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do!    I  can  sing." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  hear  you  sing." 

"Mama  taught  me,"  said  the  little  girl  soberly. 
"She  used  to  sing  such  sweet  songs." 

Juan  Delores  had  very  little  to  say,  though  he  lin 
gered  a  while  and  listened  to  their  talk.  At  last  he 
said: 

"I  see  you  all  right,  young  gentlemen.  I  go  get  da 
supper.  Mebbe  you  be  hungry?" 

"Well,"  smiled  Frank,  "to  confess  the  truth,  I  am 
ravenous." 

"And  I'm  rather  empty  myself,"  acknowledged  Bart 
dryly. 

"I  have  not  much  fine  food,"  said  Delores ;  "but  I 
t'ink  I  have  somet'ing  to  fill  you  on." 

"That's  what  we're  looking  for,  Mr.  Delores,"  said 


Juan  Delores.  125 

Merry.  "You'll  not  be  troubled  by  our  fastidious 
ness." 

"Can  I  help  you,  papa  ?"  asked  little  Felicia. 

"No;  you  stay  and  make  da  gentlemen  company." 

Then,  having  stood  quite  still  and  looked  at  Merry, 
the  queer  man  suddenly  held  out  his  hand,  exclaim 
ing: 

"I  t'ank  you,  sir,  for  save  my  little  girl.  I  love 
her.  She  is  all  I  have  left  since  her  mother  go  'way 
forever." 

Frank  was  touched. 

"Don't  mention  it,  Delores,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the 
offered  hand.  "Her  cry  of  distress  appealed  to  me,  and 
I  was  ready  to  fight  to  the  death  for  her." 

"I  know  da  men  who  were  carryin'  her  off,"  said 
Felicia's  father,  his  eyes  flashing.  "Da  come  here  an' 
make  da  threat  when  da  no  find  what  da  want.  I  go 
to  look  for  dem,  but  I  did  not  t'ink  da  get  dis  side  of 
me.  I  t'ink  my  Felicia  be  safe." 

Then  he  stooped  and  put  his  arms  lovingly  about 
the  little  girl,  whom  he  kissed  with  great  tenderness. 

"You  knew  the  men  ?"  said  Merry.  "What  did  they 
want?" 

"Somet'ing  da  never  get,"  answered  Delores.  "Da 
big  one  be  Gunnison  Bill,  da  worst  dog  in  da  State!" 

''That's  the  one  I  had  the  fight  with,"  nodded  Merry. 


126  Juan  Delores. 

"With  him?    Why,  he  much  bigger  dan  you!" 

"Somewhat." 

"How  you  fight  him?" 

"Hand  to  hand.    He  pulled  a  knife  on  me,  but  I  go 
him  by  the  wrist  and  forced  him  to  drop  it." 

Delores  seemed  unable  to  believe  this. 

"Why,  you  very  young!"  he  said.  "You  almost 
boy.  Gunnison  Bill,  he  is  giant." 

"Mr.  Merriwell  is  an  athlete,"  put  in  Hodge.  "He 
is  the  champion  all-round  athlete  of  Yale — or  was." 

"Mr.  Merriwell!"  said  Delores,  again  looking 
searchingly  at  Frank.  "Why  you  call  him  dat?" 

"Because  it  is  his  name,  even  though  you,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  seem  to  think  contrary." 

Juan  Delores  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  very  queer,"  he  said.  "If  he  be  Frank  Merri 
well,  he  should  bring  da  word." 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  said 
Merry.  "  The  word'  is  something  my  father  told  you 
I  would  be  able  to  give  when  I  appeared.  I  will  ex 
plain  after  supper  why  I  am  unable  to  give  the  word. 
I  believe  I  can  satisfy  you,  sir." 

"I  hope  you  do  dat ;  but  never  till  you  give  da  word 
am  I  to  do  it" 

"Do  what?" 

"Dat  I  shall  not  tell." 

"It  is  plain  that  you  are  bound  not  to  betray  your 


Juan  Delores.  127 

trust,  Mr.  Delores,  whatever  it  is.  I  admire  you  be 
cause  you  are  faithful." 

"An'  I  admire  you  because  you  whip  da  Gunnison 
Bill.  How  you  do  it  I  cannot  guess." 

"Oh,  papa,  he  did  fight  so  hard,  and  I  was  so 
afraid!"  exclaimed  Felicia.  "Once  I  thought  sure  the 
bad  man  would  kill  him  right  before  me,  but  I  prayed 
to  the  Lord." 

"Did  you  pray?"  breathed  Frank,  drawing  her  to 
his  knee.  "Bless  you,  sweet  little  Felicia!  Perhaps 
it  was  your  prayer  that  saved  my  life!" 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"It  may  be.     Who  knows?" 

"Quien  sabe"  said  Juan  Delores,  "But  it  was  not 
Gunnison  Bill  dat  be  most  dangerous.  It  was  da  odder. 
I  know  him — I  know  Anton  Mescal!" 

"Anton  Mescal?"  shouted  Frank,  leaping  to  his 
feet  and  clutching  the  man's  arm.  "Good  heavens! 
do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  man  with  Gunnison 
Bill  was  Anton  Mescal?" 

"Dat  his  name.  He  come  here  an'  try  to  bluff  me 
two  days  ago.  I  laugh  at  him.  He  swear  he  make 
me  laugh  some  odder  way.  He  try  to  keep  his  word." 

"Anton  Mescal!"  repeated  Merry,  in  deep  emotion. 
"And  it  was  too  dark  for  me  to  recognize  the  wretch 
who  stole  the  message  from  me!  Oh,  if  I  had  grap 
pled  with  him,  instead  of  Gunnison  Bill !" 


128  Juan  Delores. 

"Oh,  if  I  had  bored  him  with  a  bullet!"  grated 
Hodge,  who  was  even  more  excited  than  Merry. 

"You  know  him?"  questioned  Delores. 

"Know  him?"  said  Frank.  "I  never  saw  the 
scoundrel  but  once  m  my  life,  but  on  that  occasion  he 
snatched  from  my  hands  the  dying  message  sent  me 
by  my  father,  who,  I  believe,  is  buried  in  this  val 
ley." 

Delores  could  not  help  being  impressed  by  the  words 
and  manner  of  the  two  young  men. 

"Dat  why  Anton  Mescal  come  here  an'  make  him 
demand,"  he  said.  "But  he  never  succeed.  Da  boy  ia 
safe."- 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DELORES     UNMASKS. 

The  suspicions  of  Juan  Delores  were  allayed  at  last, 
and  he  left  the  boys  with  Felicia,  while  he  retired  to 
an  adjoining  room  to  prepare  the  supper.  Frank  and 
Bart  were  given  something  to  talk  about. 

"Mescal  is  near,"  said  Merry.  "He  may  have  that 
message  on  his  person.  If  fate  will  only  bring  us  face 
to  face  once  more !" 

"If  fate  had  directed  one  of  my  bullets !"  exclaimed 
Hodge.  "What  do  you  suppose  that  message  con 
tains  ?" 

"You  have  asked  me  a  question  to  which  I  cannot 
imagine  the  answer." 

"Your  father  was  very  rich." 

"Yes." 

"And  peculiar." 

"True." 

"Where  is  his  wealth  ?* 

"Heaven  knows." 

"Where  is  his  will?" 

"Give  it  up." 

"That  message  must  have  told  where  to  find  his 
tvealth  and  the  will  he  has  left" 


130  Delores  Unmasks. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  something  tells  me  that  was  not 
all.  I  am  certain  the  message  held  something  more — 
a  secret  of  great  importance." 

"Mescal  is  a  desperate  scoundrel.  He  will  not  be 
driven  away  easily." 

"I  hope  not." 

Felicia  came  and  climbed  on  Frank's  knee  once 
more. 

"You  have  had  trouble,"  she  said,  in  her  tender, 
sympathetic  way.  "Your  papa  is  dead.  Was  the  Good 
Stranger  your  papa  ?" 

"I  think  so,  little  one,"  said  Frank. 

"He  was  kind  to  me,"  said  she ;  "but  he  loved  Dick 
most." 

"Dick— who  is  Dick?" 

"Dick  is  my  cousin.    He  lives  here." 

"Here?    Why,  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"Oh,  no !    He  is  away  now." 

"Away  where  ?" 

"He  has  gone  with  Old  Joe.  Once  before  he  went 
away  with  Old  Joe,  and  was  gone  a  whole  month. 
But  I  miss  him  so  much,  for  I  love  him." 

"Is  his  name  Dick  Delores?" 

"I  don't  know.  All  I  ever  called  him  was  just 
Dick.  Oh,  but  he  can  shoot  and  ride,  and  Joe  is  teach 
ing  him  everything  he  knows." 

"How  old  is  Dick?" 


Delores  Unmasks.  131 

"One  year  older  than  I  am." 

"The  boy  we  saw  with  the  old  Indian!"  exclaimed 
Bart. 

"The  boy  who  saved  my  life !"  said  Merry,  who  then 
told  Felicia  what  had  happened  at  the  entrance  to  the 
valley. 

"That  was  Dick!"  she  cried,  "and  that  was  Old  Joe! 
But  why  did  Old  Joe  want  to  shoot  at  you?"  she 
speculated,  her  face  clouding.  "He  is  papa's  friend.'* 

"He  must  have  thought  me  your  father's  enemy," 
spoke  Frank. 

"He  must,"  nodded  Felicia  gravely.  "Old  Joe 
would  not  wish  to  shoot  a  friend." 

"The  mystery  of  the  Indian  and  the  boy  is  solved," 
said  Merry. 

"Still,  it's  rather  singular,"  muttered  Bart.  "Why; 
should  Delores  let  the  boy  go  with  that  old  savage?" 

"Papa  sent  Dick  away  with  Old  Joe,"  put  in  Fe 
licia. 

"Sent  him  away?" 

"Yes," 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I  think  he  was  afraid  the  bad 
men  would  carry  Dick  off,  same  as  they  tried  to  carry 
me." 

Frank's  face  showed  that  he  was  thinking  deeply. 
,    "Why  should  they  carry  Dick  off?"  he  asked  him- 


132  Delores  Unmasks. 

self.  "It  must  be  that  there  is  treasure  buried  near 
here,  and  they  are  seeking  to  wring  it  from  Delores. 
But  the  man  took  extra  precautions  to  protect  the  boy, 
while  he  did  not  seem  to  fear  for  the  safety  of  his 
own  child,  as  he  left  her  entirely  alone.  There  is  much 
about  this  affair  that  is  not  clear  to  me." 

Then  Delores  appeared  at  the  door  and  announced 
that  supper  was  ready.  They  went  back  to  the  dining- 
room,  Merry  carrying  little  Felicia  in  his  arms. 

The  room  was  quite  as  pretty  as  the  living-room. 
In  the  center  stood  the  table,  covered  by  a  clean,  white 
cloth,  with  the  dishes  and  food  upon  it.  A  sideboard 
had  been  built  in  the  wall.  The  chairs  were  of  the 
rustic  variety,  plainly  also  the  handiwork  of  Delores. 
The  cook-room,  in  an  ell-like  part  of  the  cabin,  was 
shut  off  from  view  by  a  swinging  spring-door. 

"Welcome,"  said  Delores. 

"Thank  you,"  bowed  Frank.  "Your  hospitality  is 
appreciated,  you  may  be  sure." 

"That's  right,"  said  Bart,  as  his  eyes  ran  over  the 
table.  "Don't  believe  I  was  ever  hungrier." 

They  sat  down,  Delores  at  the  head,  with  Felicia 
opposite.  Frank  and  Bart  sat  on  the  opposite  sides  of 
the  table.  When  they  were  seated,  the  little  girl  placed 
her  soft  white  hands  together,  bowed  her  head,  and 
said  "grace"  in  a  simple,  touching  way. 

Then,  when  the  "amen"  had  risen  from  the  lips  of 


Delores  Unmasks.  133 

the  three  men  at  the  table,  Delores  lifted  the  cover  of 
a  platter  and  revealed  to  view  some  broiled  steak,  the 
sight  of  which  made  Bart  Hodge  positively  ravenous. 

That  supper  was  enjoyed  by  all.  Delores  smiled 
when  he  realized  how  hungry  his  visitors  were,  and 
he  was  pleased  to  see  them  satisfy  the  cravings  of  their 
appetites. 

Merry  sought  to  satisfy  Delores  that  he  was  no  im 
postor  ;  but  the  man  was  on  his  guard,  and  it  was  not 
easy  to  tell  what  thoughts  were  passing  through  his 
mind.  Then  Frank  told  of  the  adventures  at  the  en 
trance  to  the  valley,  relating  how  the  old  Indian  had 
tried  to  frighten  them  from  entering,  and  had  declared 
that  Juan  Delores  lived  far  away  to  the  north. 

"He  faithful  old  fellow!"  exclaimed  Delores. 
"Once,  long  time  ago,  he  come  here  very  sick — just 
able  to  crawl  to  door.  My  wife,  she  take  him  in  an* 
doctor  him;  she  get  him  well,  though  he  have  da  fever. 
He  never  forget.  He  do  anyt'ing  for  us." 

"Even  to  commit  murder,"  said  Hodge.  "He  would 
have  shot  one  or  both  of  us  if  the  boy  had  not  hurled 
a  rock  and  struck  the  barrel  of  his  rifle." 

Felicia  clapped  her  hands. 

"Dick  can  throw  a  rock  just  as  straight!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Oh,  he  can  do  lots  of  things,  and  Old  Joe 
has  promised  to  teach  him  all  the  things  he  knows 
about  the  mountains,  the  prairies,  and  the  woods." 


134  Delores  Unmasks. 

"His  education  is  well  begun,"  said  Frank,  "but  it 
is  the  finishing  off  that  will  count." 

"Oh,  he  can  read  and  write  and  all  dat!"  quickly 
exclaimed  Juan.  "My  wife,  she  be  educated  American, 
and  she  teach  Dick  and  Felicia." 

The  laughter  passed  swiftly  from  the  face  of  the 
girl,  and  she  sadly  said : 

"Yes,  mama  used  to  teach  us  every  day,  but  Dick 
was  so  hard  to  teach — he  was  so  wild.  Now  mama  is 
gone,  and  I  have  tried  to  teach  myself;  but  Dick  will 
not  study  at  all." 

Frank  felt  like  asking  Delores  some  questions  about 
the  mysterious  boy  with  the  old  Indian,  but,  feeling 
that  he  had  no  right  to  do  so,  he  refrained.  It  seemed 
that  Delores  felt  like  explaining  a  part  of  the  mystery, 
which  led  him  to  volunteer : 

"Anton  Mescal,  he  come  after  Dick.  Dat  why  I 
let  Old  Joe  take  da  boy.  Old  Joe  protec'  him." 

"Then  it  is  Dick,  not  Felicia,  that  Mescal  wants  ?" 

Delores  nodded. 

"If  you  have  da  word,  you  would  know  dat,"  he  de 
clared. 

And  then  it  was  that  Merriwell  began  to  feel  that 
there  was  some  strange,  invisible  link  that  connected 
himself  with  this  wild  boy  of  the  mountains. 

Delores  had  talked  far  more  than  usual  with  him, 
and  he  suddenly  showed  a  disposition  to  close  up  like 


Delores  Unmasks.  135 

a  clam.  Merry  fancied  it  must  be  because  He  thought 
the  conversation  was  getting  on  dangerous  ground, 
and  this  caused  Frank  to  lead  it  in  another  direction. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  settle  here  in  this  out-of- 
the-way  place,  Mr.  Delores?"  he  asked.  "Why  did 
you  build  your  home  here  in  this  thick  piece  of 
twoods  ?" 

"Hard  to  see  it  here,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  you  did  not  wish  it  seen?" 

"No." 

"And  that  was  why  you  selected  this  valley,  whicfi 
might  be  passed  and  repassed  without  finding  a  good 
way  of  descending  into  it?" 

Delores  nodded. 

"It  is  a  good  place  for  a  man  who  chooses  the  life 
of  a  hermit,"  said  Bart,  "but  one  is  out  of  the  world 
here." 

"Dat  not  true,"  said  Juan.  "Dis  is  God's  world 
here!  Da  mountain,  da  blue  sky,  da  wild  flower,  da 
sweet  air,  da  birds — it  is  God's  world." 

"It  is  beautiful!"  murmured  Felicia. 

"But  monotonous !"  muttered  Bart. 

"Some  men  cannot  choose,"  said  Juan.  "I  was  one 
of  dat  kind.  I  have  to  make  my  home  where  I  can 
be  safe." 

"That's  different,"  said  Frank. 

Somehow,  Delores  seemed  to  fancy  that  both  visit- 


136  Delores  Unmasks. 

ors  looked  on  him  with  suspicion  after  that  speech,  and 
he  hastened  to  add : 

"I  do  no  crime — no.  I  do  not'ing  in  this  country  to 
make  me  hide-a." 

They  looked  at  him  in  silence.  Somehow,  that 
seemed  to  sting  him  deeply,  for  he  suddenly  burst 
forth: 

"If  you  knew!  I  have  kep'  da  secret  long — I  have 
kep'  da  silence.  Now  Mescal,  he  know  all  'bout  it. 
How  he  find  it  out  I  do  not  know;  but  he  will  tell  it 
everywhere.  Da  secret  will  be  no  longer  one.  Soon 
I  shall  have  to  go  'way  from  dis  valley.  I  have 
t'ought  dat  some  time." 

"Oh,  papa — oh,  no,  no,  no!"  cried  Felicia,  spring 
ing  from  her  place  and  running  round  to  him.  "Go 
away  from  here  ?  Leave  my  dear  mama  out  there  all 
alone?  Oh,  no,  no,  no!" 

Her  distress  was  great,  and  the  tears  appeared  in 
her  deep,  dark  eyes.  He  caught  her  up  and  kissed 
her  hair,  holding  her  close  to  him. 

"My  little  Felicia!"  he  said  huskily.  "I  'fraid  da 
time  come  when  we  must  go;  but,  some  time,  mebbe, 
we  come  back  to  put  da  sweet  flower  on  mania's 
grave." 

"Oh,  why  should  we  go,  papa?" 

"Papa  have  great  many  enemy.     Now  da  bad  maa 


Delores  Unmasks.  137 

know  him  here  da  enemy  may  find  out  soon.  Papa 
go  'way,  so  him  not  be  hurt." 

"Your  cattle — what  will  you  do  with  them?"  asked 
Frank.  "I  suppose  those  are  your  cattle  in  the  val 
ley?" 

"Yes,  dem  mine.  I  know  way  to  drive  dem  out.  I 
sell  dem." 

But  still  little  Felicia  was  greatly  distressed  over  the 
thought  of  going  away  and  leaving  her  home.  She 
knew  no  other  home,  and  that  one  was  very  dear  to 
her. 

"Must  we  go,  papa?"  she  sobbed.    "Must  we  go?" 

"I  am  'fraid  of  dat,"  he  nodded.  "We  find  some 
place  else  to  live." 

"Again  he  saw  the  visitors  looking  at  him  curi 
ously. 

"You  t'ink  I  do  somet'ing  wrong?"  he  cried.  "I 
do  not'ing  but  fight  for  liberty.  I  make  enemies  dat 
swear  to  kill  me  if  da  follow  me  to  da  hot  place.  At 
first  I  feel  no  fear  of  dem.  Den  da  gov'ment  pro 
nounce  me  outlaw — put  da  price  on  me!  I  have  to 
fly  from  my  country.  My  enemy  follow.  I  have  to 
fight  for  my  life.  I  kill  one,  two,  t'ree.  Dat  make 
dem  worse.  All  da  relation  swear  to  find  me  an' 
take  my  head  to  da  gov'ment.  I  find  myself  hunted 
man  night  an'  day.  Den,  at  last,  when  I  marry  beau 
tiful  American  wife,  for  her  sake  I  have  to  find  place 


O8  Delores  Unmasks. 

where  we  can  live  quiet.  Den  I  come  Here,  anil  we 
live  here  happy  together." 

It  was  an  interesting  and  tragic  story,  and  Merrjj 
did  not  doubt  its  truth.  So  this  man,  Juan  Delores 
as  he  called  himself,  had  been  married  to  an  American 
woman,  who  was  the  mother  of  Felicia. ' 

Delores  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  visit 
ors. , 

"You  believe  me?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  while  Bart  bowed. 

"I  tell  you  who  I  am,"  said  the  man.  "Perhap'  you 
have  heard  'bout  me." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  there  before  them, 
looking  proudly  at  them.  There  was  in  his  pose  now; 
the  manner  of  the  born  aristocrat.  He  smiled  a  lit 
tle. 

"Gentlemen,**  he  said,  "I  am  da  Don  Jose  Maria 
Queypo  de  Llano  Ruiz  y  de  Saravia,  of  Spain!" 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

THE     MESSAGE     RECOVERED. 

Frank  had  heard  of  him,  a  Spanish  refugee  and  out 
cast,  a  man  of  noble  family,  who  had  sacrificed  him 
self  and  his  fortune  for  what  he  firmly  believed  was 
right  and  justice. 

"Count  De  Saravia!"  exclaimed  Frank. 

"Yes,"  said  the  man. 

Then  he  told  them  much  of  his  story,  and  Felicia, 
who  had  known  nothing  of  it  herself,  sat  and  listened 
in  wondering  silence.  But  what  the  count  told  did  not 
clear  up  the  mystery  that  puzzled  Frank. 

After  the  supper  was  over,  they  returned  to  the  liv 
ing-room,  where  Merry  opened  the  piano  and  played. 
Little  Felicia  sang  for  them,  and  finally  she  crept  into 
her  father's  arms  and  fell  asleep.  He  carried  her  off 
to  bed,  and  Merry  and  Bart  turned  and  faced  each 
other. 

"Well?"  said  Hodge. 

"Strange,"  said  Merry.  "But  the  haze  remains  as 
deep  as  ever." 

"Deeper,  if  anything." 

"I  feel  like  getting  some  air,"  said  Frank. 

Hodge  would  have  accompanied  him  when  he  rose 


140  The  Message  Recovered. 

to  go  out,  but  instinct  told  Bart  that  Merry  chose  to 
be  alone. 

Frank  passed  along  the  deep  wood  path  till  he  came 
to  the  open.  The  moon  had  risen  in  the  east,  and  was 
shedding  its  silver  radiance  into  Pleasant  Valley.  The 
little  lake  lay  with  a  shimmering  path  of  silver  moon 
shine  across  it. 

The  scene  was  calm  and  peaceful  enough.  Frank 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  shadowy  woods  and  gazed 
upon  the  quiet  valley.  From  far,  far  away  came  the 
cry  of  some  prowling  wild  beast,  but  that  was  the  only 
sound  to  break  the  calm  of  the  peaceful  night. 

"She  said  the  graves  were  up  this  way,"  Frank  mur 
mured.  "I  will  see  if  I  can  find  them." 

After  a  time  he  came  upon  them.  They  were  not 
far  apart,  with  a  great  tree  rising  near  at  hand.  One 
had  a  granite  stone  at  its  head,  and  on  the  stone  had 
been  crudely  chiseled  the  name  ''Lucy." 

Frank  knew  that  was  the  grave  of  Felicia's  mother. 
The  other  grave  had  been  lately  made,  and  no  stone 
rose  above  it. 

"My  father  rests  here!"  murmured  Frank,  as  he 
knelt  beside  that  mound. 

For  some  minutes  he  remained  there,  tears  starting 
from  his  eyes  and  trickling  slowly  down  his  cheeks. 

"Poor  father!"  came  softly  from  his  lips.  "You 
never  knew  what  real  peace  and  happiness  meant. 


The  Message  Recovered.  141 

Yours  was  a  wild,  strange  life,  and  it  seems  fitting  that 
you  should  die  as  you  did.  But,  oh,  what  would  I 
not  have  given  to  have  been  at  your  side!  Perhaps  I 
could  have  comforted  you.  To-morrow  I  will  bring 
flowers  and  place  upon  this  mound.  A  stone  shall  be 
erected,  and  here,  dear  father,  you  will  sleep  your  long, 
last  sleep.  At  last  you  have  found  the  peace  and  rest 
that  was  denied  you  in  life.  God  knows  what  is  best, 
and  He  doeth  all  things  well." 

When  he  turned  away  he  felt  in  no  mood  to  return 
to  the  cabin  at  once,  so  he  wandered  down  toward  the 
shimmering  lake,  which  seemed  calling  to  him  in  the 
soft  whispers  of  passing  breezes.  As  he  approached 
the  lake,  he  passed  beneath  some  wide-spreading  trees, 
which  gave  a  deep  shadow. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  moving" 
object  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake.  He  paused  and  gazed, 
and  the  moonlight  showed  to  him  a  canoe  that  seemed 
to  be  occupied  by  two  persons.  It  was  approaching 
the  side  of  the  lake  on  which  Merry  stood,  and  he  could 
see  the  dripping  paddle  flash  and  shine  in  the  moon 
light. 

Not  a  sound  came  from  the  canoe.  There  was  no 
movement  of  either  figure,  save  the  swinging  arms 
of  the  one  in  the  stern,  who  plied  the  paddle. 

Merriwell  drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  shore,  shield 
ing  himself  carefully  and  waiting.  When  the  canoe 


142  The  Message  Recovered. 

was  close  in,  he  decided  that  it  must  contain  the  old 
Indian,  Joe  Crowfoot,  and  the  strange  boy. 

Barely  had  the  craft  touched  the  shore  when  out 
from  places  of  concealment  leaped  two  men  and  flung 
themselves  on  the  Indian  and  the  boy.  One  of  the 
men  clutched  the  boy,  who  fought  like  a  tiger-cat. 

The  other  ruffian  gave  his  attention  to  the  old  In 
dian,  who  whipped  out  a  knife  and  met  his  attack. 
The  man  fired  a  shot,  but  the  Indian  closed  in  swiftly, 
as  if  not  touched,  and  this  forced  the  assailant  to  drop 
his  revolver  and  bring  forth  a  knife. 

Then  a  deadly  and  terrible  battle  took  place  there  on 
the  shore  of  Lake  Sunshine.  The  knives  were  heard 
to  strike  and  grate  together  as  the  foes  met,  hand  to 
hand  and  face  to  face. 

It  fascinated  Merriwell,  and,  for  the  instant,  he 
paused  to  stare  at  the  spectacle.  He  saw  the  Indian's 
assailant  was  almost  a  giant,  and  a  startling  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind: 

"It's  Gunnison  Bill !    I  did  not  kill  him,  after  all !" 

"Now,  redskin,  I'm  goin'  ter  carve  yer  up !  I'll  just 
rip  yer  inter  ribbons  in  a  minute !" 

The  voice  was  that  of  the  big  ruffian,  and  then 
Merry  knew  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  man  was  Gun 
nison  Bill. 

A  cry  came  from  the  lips  of  the  boy,  arousing  Frank 


The  Message  Recovered.  143 

from  the  strange  lethargy  that  seemed  to  have  seized 
him.  Without  a  sound,  the  young  athlete  leaped  to 
ward  the  spot  where  the  boy  was  doing  his  best  in  the 
struggle  with  the  man  who  had  clutched  him. 

"I  think  I'll  take  a  hand  here !"  exclaimed  Merry,  as 
he  sprang  upon  the  man. 

It  was  the  companion  of  Gunnisoti  Bill,  who  had 
escaped  on  Frank's  mustang. 

Startled  by  Merry's  sudden  appearance,  the  fellow 
whirled  about,  trying  to  fling  the  boy  aside.  The 
moonlight  fell  full  on  his  face. 

"Anton  Mescal!"  cried  Merriwell  exultantly.  "At 
last  I  have  found  you!" 

"Frank  Merriwell!"  gasped  Mescal,  for  it  was  the 
scoundrel  who  had  snatched  the  message  from  Merry 
in  the  New  York  hotel. 

"Yes!"  shouted  Merry,  as  he  fastened  his  hands 
upon  the  fellow.  "I  believed  fate  would  bring  us  to 
gether  here!  Now  I  shall  recover  the  message  you 
stole  from  me!" 

"Never!    You'll  have  to  kill  me  first!" 

"Then  I  shall  kill  you!"  came  the  cold,  hard  words 
from  Frank's  lips. 

"Bill!  Bill!"  cried  Mescal    "Help,  Bill!" 

"Bill  is  having  his  hands  full,"  said  Merry.  "Old 
Joe  Crowfoot  is  attending  to  him." 

"He  can  kill  that  old  dog  in  a  minute !" 


144  The  Message  Recovered. 

"Perhaps,  but  Old  Joe  may  get  in  a  few  licks  while 
he  is  doing  it." 

A  fierce  struggle  between  Frank  and  Mescal  ensued. 
Mescal  was  no  match  for  the  young  athlete,  but  he  felt 
that  he  was  fighting  for  all  that  he  desired  and  held 
dear,  so  he  put  up  a  stiff  struggle  for  a  while.  At  last 
Merry  forced  the  fellow  to  his  knees,  fastening  a 
clutch  on  his  throat. 

"Give  up?" 

"Curse  you — no!"  hoarsely  breathed  Mescal. 

Merry's  ringers  shut  off  the  man's  wind,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  bones  cracked  beneath  that  pressure. 
Still  the  desperado  fought  to  the  last,  though  he 
gradually  grew  weaker  and  weaker. 

Merry  choked  the  man  into  insensibility.  Having 
done  this,  he  began  to  search  his  clothes  for  the  mes 
sage.  In  course  of  time  he  found  it,  within  an  inner 
pocket.  Frank  opened  it  and  looked  at  it  by  the  aid  of 
the  moonlight. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  he  said.  "I  have  it  again !  This 
is  the  message  my  father  wrote  and  sent  to  me." 

He  had  been  so  absorbed  that  he  was  quite  unaware 
of  anything  else  that  was  taking  place.  Now,  having 
thrust  the  message  into  his  pocket,  he  rose  and  looked 
around. 

To  his  amazement,  the  canoe,  containing  the  old 
Indian  and  the  boy,  was  gliding  swiftly  away  over  the 


The  Message  Recovered.  145 

lake,  while  on  the  shore  lay  the  bleeding  body  of  Gun- 
nison  Bill.  In  the  knife  duel  the  ruffian  had  met  more 
than  his  match  in  Old  Joe,  who  had  ended  the  career 
of  the  desperado.  Gunnison  Bill's  life  of  evil-doing 
was  over. 

Frank  called  to  the  Indian  and  the  boy,  urging  them 
to  return,  saying  he  was  a  friend ;  but  they  paid  not  the 
least  heed,  and  the  canoe  kept  on  till  it  melted  into  the 
shadow  along  a  distant  shore. 

Anton  Mescal  lay  quite  still  on  the  shore,  and  Frank 
feared  he  had  killed  the  fellow.  On  kneeling  by  the 
side  of  the  scoundrel  and  feeling  for  his  heart-beats, 
Merry  found  that  life  remained  in  Mescal's  body. 

"He'll  recover,"  Merry  decided.  "I  think  I'll  truss 
him  up." 

So  he  lifted  Mescal  and  carried  him  up  the  bank 
to  a  large  tree.  The  unconscious  villain  was  placed 
in  a  sitting  position  on  the  ground,  with  his  back 
against  the  tree,  after  which  Merry  stripped  up  the 
man's  coat  and  bound  him  in  that  position. 

Having  disposed  of  Mescal  thus,  Frank  hastened 
back  toward  the  cabin  home  of  Delores.  On  the  way 
he  met  Hodge. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  shot,"  said  Bart.  "Didn't 
know  but  you  were  in  trouble,  and  that  brought  me 
out  hot- foot." 

Hodge  was  ready  for  anything. 


146  The  Message  Recovered.     , 

"You  did  hear  a  shot,"  said  Frank.  "It  was  fired 
by  Gunnison  Bill." 

"Gunnison  Bill?    Why,  he's  deadf 

"You  are  right;  he  is  dead  now;  but  we  did  not 
leave  him  dead  in  the  timber  over  yonder,  as  we 
fancied." 

"Didn't?  What  has  happened,  Merry?  Tell  me 
as  quick  as  you  can." 

But  Bart  could  scarcely  believe  the  story  Frank  had 
to  tell. 

"You  met  Mescal  there?"  he  exclaimed  joyously; 
"and  you  have  the  message?" 

"Safe  in  my  pocket,"  said  Frank.  "I  shall  read  it 
to-night." 

"I  told  Delores  I  would  go  out  and  see  what  the 
shot  meant.  He  remained  to  guard  Felicia.  Let's 
return  and  let  him  know  there  is  no  danger." 

So  they  went  to  the  cabin,  where  they  found  De- 
lores  waiting"  rifle  in  hand,  for  anything  that  might 
occur.  When  he  heard  Merry's  story  he  was  even 
more  excited  than  Bart. 

"Mescal  out  there?"  he  panted.  "Dat  man  must 
not  git  away!  Take  me  to  dat  man!  He  know  my 
secret,  an'  he  be  my  enemy!" 

It  was  not  without  serious  misgivings  that  Merry 
led  the  way  to  the  spot  where  the  struggle  had  taken 


The  Message  Recovered.  147 

place  on  the  shore  of  the  lake.  He  found  an  oppor 
tunity  to  whisper  to  Bart: 

"Watch  him !  We  can't  stand  by  and  see  him  mur 
der  Mescal,  no  matter  what  Mescal  may  have  done." 

But  when  they  came  to  the  tree  where  Frank  had 
bound  Mescal,  they  found  the  man  had  recovered, 
broken  his  bonds,  and  escaped. 

Delores  was  like  a  hound  on  the  scent,  and  he  fol 
lowed  the  trail  till  it  ran  into  a  piece  of  timber,  where 
it  was  lost  for  the  time. 

"But  I'll  take  it  up  in  da  morning!"  declared  the 
refugee.  "He  must  make  da  fast  track  if  he  get 
away." 

The  body  of  Gunnison  Bill  they  buried  that  night 
not  far  from  where  he  fell. 

And  then,  with  Bart  in  the  room  where  they  were 
to  sleep,  Frank  Merriwell  brought  forth  and  read 
the  strange  and  startling  message  sent  him  by  his 
dying  father. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHAT   THE   MESSAGE    CONTAINEB. 

That  message  gave  Merrivvell  the  greatest  sur 
prise  of  his  life,  for  it  told  how  Charles  Conrad  Mer 
riwell,  Frank's  father,  after  his  first  wife's  death,  had 
married  another  woman,  whom  he  met  in  the  West 
And  it  told  how,  by  his  second  wife,  Mr.  Merriwell 
had  had  one  son,  Richard,  who  was  thus  a  half- 
brother  to  Frank.  But  Mr.  Merriwell  had  been  hunted 
by  his  bitter  enemy,  Dion  Santenel,  and  never  had 
his  life  been  anything  but  one  of  trouble  and  fear. 
It  was  not  such  a  life  as  would  make  a  wife  happy 
and  contented.  Fearing  Santenel  might  find  his  wife 
and  strike  him,  through  her,  Mr.  Merriwell  had  hidden 
her  away  in  a  safe  retreat.  But  she  was  frail  and 
delicate,  and  she  had  not  survived. 

The  second  Mrs.  Merriwell  was  a  sister  to  the  wife 
of  the  man  known  as  Juan  Delores,  and  so  to  Juan 
Charles  Merriwell  took  the  motherless  boy,  Richard. 
Juan  had  raised  Richard  there  in  that  hidden  valley 
as  if  the  boy  were  his  own  son,  and  there  he  had  been 
happy  and  contented,  with  Felicia,  his  cousin,  for  his 
only  playmate. 

When  fate  had  brought  Charles  Merriwell  and  his 


What  the  Message  Contained. 

first  son  together  once  more,  the  lips  of  the  man  re 
mained  sealed  concerning  a  portion  of  his  life.  Thus 
it  happened  that  Frank  Merriwell  had  never  suspected 
the  existence  of  a  half-brother. 

But,  when  the  end  came,  Charles  Merriwell  sum 
moned  strength  to  write  a  full  confession.  As  he 
wrote  it,  he  knew  he  had  been  followed  about  by 
men  who  sought  to  wrest  from  him  in  some  manner 
his  great  fortune,  or  a  portion  of  it,  and  it  was  his 
fear  that  they  might  succeed  after  he  was  dead. 

He  sent  Delores  to  Denver  for  a  reliable  messenger 
to  take  the  precious  document  to  Frank.  The  mes 
senger  employed  was  a  detective  belonging  to  an 
agency  in  the  city,  and  he  executed  his  trust  faithfully, 
for  all  that  Anton  Mescal,  aware  of  his  purpose,  fol 
lowed  him  all  the  way  to  the  Atlantic  coast,  seeking  to 
get  possession  of  the  precious  document  in  the  oil 
skin  envelope. 

In  the  confession  Charles  Merriwell  charged  his 
son  Frank  to  take  care  of  Richard,  bring  him  up 
properly,  be  both  brother  and  father  to  him. 

"He  is  a  frail  lad  in  some  ways,"  wrote  the  dying 
man,  "and  he  should  be  trained  and  built  up  until  he 
possesses  a  marvelous  physique,  like  your  own,  Frank. 
I  give  him  into  your  hands  for  this  task.  He  is  your 
brother,  and  I  charge  you  to  make  a  man  of  him — > 
such  a  man  as  you  yourself  have  become.  I  am  proud 


150       What  the  Message  Contained 

of  you,  Frank,  for  you  are  a  son  to  make  any  father 
proud.  Dick  is  like  you  in  some  ways,  but  he  is 
unlike  you  in  many.  He  is  wild,  impulsive,  passionate, 
and  hard  to  govern;  but  I  believe  you  can  mold  him 
into  a  splendid  man. 

"You  know  I  am  rich,  and  I  leave  all  my  wealth 
to  be  divided  between  you  and  Richard,  in  case  you 
carry  out  my  instructions  faithfully.  The  will,  which 
Juan  Delores  will  give  to  you  when  you  come  to  him 
(with  the  word,  will  make  everything  clear.  He  will 
also  turn  over  into  your  care  your  brother,  Richard. 
I  think  there  is  no  danger  but  you  will  be  faithful  to 
this  duty  I  have  left  you,  but,  should  you  fail  to  take 
charge  of  Richard  and  care  for  him,  you  will  see  by 
the  will  that  you  are  cut  off  from  ever  receiving  a 
(dollar  of  my  wealth." 

Frank  felt  a  twinge  of  pain  as  he  read  this. 

"Why  did  he  have  to  write  that?"  he  thought  re 
gretfully.  "Ah !  he  did  not  know  me  well,  or  he  would 
have  been  certain  I  would  do  everything  in  my  power 
to  carry  out  his  instructions." 

Later  on  in  the  message  was  given  "the  word" 
which  Frank  was  to  speak  to  Delores. 

Hodge  had  seen  enough  to  know  how  deeply  Frank 
was  touched,  and  he  retired  as  quietly  as  possible, 
leaving  Merry  sitting  there  reading  that  astonishing 
revelation  over  and  over  acain. 


"What  the  Message  Contained.        151 

The  night  was  far  spent  before  Frank  lay  down  to 
sleep.  His  slumber  was  filled  with  dreams,  and  more 
than  once  he  murmured : 

"Richard— Richard,  my  brother!" 


In  the  morning  Frank  spoke  "the  word"  to  Juan 
Delores,  saying: 

"I  have  recovered  the  message  that  was  stolen  from 
me  by  Anton  Mescal,  and  I  have  read  it  over  and 
over.  I  wish  to  see  my  brother." 

Delores  bowed. 

"You  shall  see  him  soon,"  he  promised. 

Then  he  went  away  somewhere,  and,  after  a  time, 
returned  with  the  last  will  and  testament  of  Charles 
Conrad  Merriwell,  which  he  placed  in  the  hands  of 
Frank. 

"I  was  convinced  last  night,"  he  said,  "dat  it 
b'long  to  you ;  but  I  had  to  swear  to  your  father  dat 
I  never  give  it  to  any  one  who  fail  to  bring  da  word. 
What  could  I  do?  I  did  not  know.  I  t'ink  I  find 
some  way  to  let  you  know  da  word  after  you  give  me 
all  da  proof  dat  you  be  Frank  Merriwell." 

"You  have  been  faithful  and  true,  Mr.  Delores," 
said  Merry,  with  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  man. 
"I  shall  not  forget.  A  Merriwell  never  forgets." 

"Dat  all  right,"  asserted  Juan,  flushing.    "But  had 


152       What  the  Message  Contained. 

we  foun'  Mescal  last  night,  I  t'ink  I  would  feel  better 
now." 

"I  do  not  believe  Mescal  will  trouble  any  of  us 
again,"  said  Frank.  "It  was  his  object  to  keep  me 
from  finding  out  what  I  was  to  do,  so  that  I  would 
not  comply  with  the  terms  of  the  will.  If  I  failed 
to  take  care  of  my  brother,  I  was  to  have  no  part  in 
the  property  left  by  my  father.  A  false  Richard  might 
have  been  substituted,  and  there  are  a  dozen  schemes 
whereby  Mescal  could  have  profited  had  he  suc 
ceeded,  but  he  failed  utterly,  and  now  he  will  have  to 
look  out  for  himself." 

At  this  moment  Felicia,  laughing  gaily,  appeared  at 
the  open  door  of  the  cabin,  calling: 

"Oh,  Frank,  come  out!" 

Merry  had  told  her  on  the  previous  evening  that 
she  was  to  call  him  Frank. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  smiled  Merriwell. 

"Come  and  see,"  she  urged.  "I  have  a  surprise  for 
you.  Oh,  come  quick !" 

Laughing,  he  complied.  She  grasped  him  by  the 
hand  and  led  him  round  the  cabin. 

There,  standing  where  the  morning  sunshine  fell 
through  an  opening  in  the  Black  \Voods,  were  two 
persons,  an  old  and  wrinkled  Indian  and  a  bright- 
faced,  dark-eyed  boy. 

Frank  was  face  to  face  with  his  brother" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    REBELLIOUS    SPIRIT. 

"Hee-haw!  hee-haw!  hee-haw!" 

Rattle-ty-smash !  rattle-ty-thump !  thump!  smash! 
thud! 

"Hee-haw!  hee-haw!  hee-haw!" 

"Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Pandemonium  seemed  to  have  suddenly  broken 
loose  just  outside  the  window  at  which  Frank  was 
writing. 

The  braying  hee-haw  was  followed  by  such  a  smash 
ing,  and  crashing,  and  banging  that  it  brought  Merry 
to  his  feet  immediately. 

Then  came  a  burst  of  wild,  elfish  boy  laughter. 

"What  the  dickens  is  he  up  to  now?"  exclaimed 
Frank,  as  he  sprang  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  both  amusing  and 
surprising.  To  the  tail  of  a  small,  long-eared  burro, 
attached  by  means  of  a  cord,  hung  an  old  tin  can. 
And  the  burro  was  hee-hawing  and  kicking  furiously 
in  a  mad  endeavor  to  free  himself  from  the  thing 
which  clattered  and  thumped  about  his  heels. 

On  the  ground,  in  a  perfect  paroxysm  of  delight, 
rolled  Dick,  from  whose  lips  came  the  shrieks  of  elfish 


154  A  Rebellious  Spirit 

laughter.    It  was  two  days  since  Frank  had  first  met 
this,  until  then,  unknown  half-brother. 

Wrapped  in  a  dirty  red  blanket,  sitting  with  his 
back  against  the  wall  of  the  cabin,  was  Old  Joe  Crow 
foot,  who  calmly  smoked  his  long-stemmed  pipe,  and 
regarded  the  youngster  and  the  burro  with  the  gravity 
of  a  stone  image. 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!"  shouted  the  boy.  "Look  at 
Billy!  Kick  it  again,  Billy!  Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!  Oh, 
ha !  ha!  ha !" 

Billy  kicked  and  rolled  his  eyes  round  at  the  per 
sistent  thing  that  came  banging  back  against  his  heels. 
There  was  a  comical  look  of  mingled  terror  and  anger 
in  the  eyes  of  the  little  burro.  He  plunged  and  leaped 
about  in  various  attempts  to  get  away  from  the  rat 
tling  pail,  which  his  heels  had  battered  out  of  all  sem 
blance  to  its  original  shape. 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  old  Indian,  and  he  gravely 
continued  smoking,  without  moving  hand  or  foot. 

Then  came  a  sudden,  childish  cry  of  distress,  and 
round  the  cabin  Felicia  came  running.  She  rushed 
straight  toward  the  little  burro. 

"Oh,  Billy !  Billy !"  she  cried  "Who  hurt  my  Billy  ? 
Stop,  Billy  ITU  take  it  off!" 

Heedless  of  danger,  fearless  of  the  flying  hoofs  and 
plunging  beast,  she  ran  right  up  to  the  burro.  A 
moment  later  she  was  knocked  flat  as  the  little  animal 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  155 

lunged  round  in  its  mad  struggles  to  get  away  from 
the  banging  pail. 

A  leap  carried  Frank  Merriwell  out  through  the 
open  window,  and  it  seemed  that  another  spring  took 
him  to  the  side  of  the  child,  which  he  caught  up  in  his 
arms. 

At  the  same  moment  the  string  broke  and  the 
burro  sent  the  old  can  whizzing  into  the  branches  of 
a  tree  near  at  hand  Twice  after  this  the  heels  of  the 
excited  little  beast  twinkled  in  the  air,  and  then,  seem 
ing  to  realize  that  he  had  conquered  at  last,  he  let 
forth  a  triumphant  bray. 

The  boy  sprang  up  and  stood  quite  still,  all  the 
laughter  gone  from  his  face. 

"Are  you  hurt,  Felicia?"  asked  Merry,  as  he  held 
the  girl  in  his  strong  arms. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  she  sobbed.  "But  my  Billy  is  hurt! 
(Put  me  down — please  put  me  down!" 

Frank  did  so,  and  she  ran  to  the  burro,  clasping  it 
round  the  neck  and  sobbing  as  she  showered  the  now 
quiet  little  creature  with  caresses. 

Still  the  old  Indian  remained  motionless  by  the 
cabin  wall,  not  even  pulling  a  bit  quicker  at  the  pipe 
to  betray  that  he  had  been  disturbed  or  interested  by 
what  had  happened. 

Frank  turned  to  the  boy. 

"Did  you  do  it,  Dick?"  he  asked 


156  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

"Do  what  ?"  said  the  boy,  with  a  defiant  air. 

"Hitch  that  thing  to  Billy's  tail." 

"Yes;  what  if  I  did?" 

Without  retort  to  this,  Merry  again  gave  his  atten 
tion  to  the  girl,  who  was  continuing  to  bestow  caresses 
on  the  burro. 

"Billy  is  not  hurt,  Felicia,"  he  said  gently.  "Don't 
cry  any  more.  Are  you  sure  he  didn't  hurt  you  when 
he  knocked  you  down  ?" 

"Not  much,"  was  her  assurance.  "Just  here  some," 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  side.  "And  here  a  little." 

But  when  he  pushed  back  her  sleeve  he  found  her 
arm  was  bruised  and  bleeding  slightly. 

At  this  moment,  having  been  attracted  by  the 
rumpus,  Juan  Delores,  the  father  of  little  Felicia, 
came  hastily  upon  the  scene.  He  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  and  it  seemed  that  past  experience  must  have 
told  him  who  was  to  blame  for  what  had  happened, 
as  he  gave  the  dark-eyed  boy  a  quick  look,  then  lifted 
the  child  and  carried  her  into  the  house. 

"Dick,"  said  Frank,  to  the  boy,  "I  have  something 
to  say  to  you." 

Again  the  lad  gave  him  a  defiant  look,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Merry,  as  he  started 
toward  the  door. 


A  Rebellious  Spirit  157 

The  boy  did  not  stir.  On  the  steps  Merry  turned 
and  looked  straight  at  the  rebellious  youngster. 

"Dick!" 

Their  eyes  met,  and  they  stood  thus  for  some  mo 
ments,  looking  at  each  other. 

"Come  in!"  said  Frank,  still  keeping  his  eyes  fast 
ened  on  those  of  the  boy. 

It  seemed  that  the  lad  was  struggling  to  resist,  but 
that,  in  spite  of  his  desire  to  do  otherwise,  his  power 
was  not  sufficient  to  combat  that  of  the  young  man 
on  the  steps.  Slowly  at  first,  as  if  seeking  to  hang 
back,  he  advanced,  and  then  he  followed  Frank  into 
the  cabin. 

In  a  back  room  little  Felicia  could  be  heard  sob 
bing,  her  father  speaking  an  occasional  kind  word  to 
her. 

"Sit  down,  Dick,"  said  Frank,  pointing  to  a  chair. 

The  boy  hesitated,  as  if  on  the  point  of  refusing, 
and  then  sat  down,  as  directed. 

Frank  went  to  his  chair  at  the  table  near  the  win 
dow.  As  he  did  so  he  glanced  out  through  the  window 
and  saw  the  old  Indian  in  exactly  the  same  position 
as  before,  only  it  seemed  he  had  moved  a  little  nearer 
the  window,  as  if  he  wished  to  hear  what  passed  within 
that  room. 

Merry  sat  down,  took  up  his  pen,  dipped  it  in  the 
mk,  and  quietly  finished  the  sentence  he  had  been 


158  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

writing-  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  rumpus  outside 
the  window.  The  boy  fidgeted  nervously. 

The  sobbing  of  little  Felicia  gradually  ceased  in 
the  back  room;  her  father  was  heard  to  tell  her  that 
she  was  all  right,  and  a  few  moments  later  she  came 
running  round  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  having  passed 
out  by  the  back  door.  She  hastened  straight  to  the 
burro,  which  she  again  hugged,  and  caressed,  and 
kissed,  calling  the  docile  little  beast  all  sorts  of  pet 
names. 

All  at  once  the  boy  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  cry 
ing: 

"If  you're  going  to  say  anything  to  me,  say  it !  I'm 
tired  of  sitting  here,  and  I  won't  sit  here  any  longer !" 

Frank  looked  up,  but  Dick  turned  his  eyes  on  the 
floor. 

"Look  at  me,"  Merry  commanded. 

"I  won't !"  was  the  answer. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then  Frank  re 
peated  : 

"Look  at  me!" 

Slowly  those  dark  eyes  were  lifted  till  they  met 
Frank's  steady  gaze.  The  boy  caught  his  breath  and 
stood  quite  still  until  Frank  quietly  said : 

"Please  sit  down  a  moment  longer,  Dick,  till  I  reach 
a  place  where  I  can  stop  conveniently." 

The  words  were  not  a  command,  but  they  were 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  159 

spoken  as  if  Frank  had  no  thought  in  the  world  that 
they  would  meet  with  a  refusal;  and,  without  waiting 
to  note  their  effect,  Merry  resumed  writing. 

The  boy  sat  down  and  remained  quiet  till  Merri- 
well  laid  aside  the  pen,  smiling. 

"Come  here,  Dick,"  said  Frank. 

The  boy  rose  and  came  to  him. 

Frank  turned  his  head  to  look  out  of  the  window, 
.which  led  the  boy  to  look  in  the  same  direction,  and 
he  saw  little  Felicia  still  caressing  the  burro. 

"You  didn't  know  Felicia  cared  so  much  for  Billy, 
did  you,  Dick?"  asked  Merry,  smiling  a  bit. 

The  boy  did  not  answer. 

"Of  course  you  didn't/'  Frank  went  on;  "and  it's 
very  foolish  of  her.  It's  silly  to  care  so  much  for  a 
homely  little  donkey,  and  she  oug&t  to  be  punished 
for  it." 

"It  isn't  silly !"  burst  forth  the  boy  warmly,  his  face 
flushing;  "and  she  hadn't  ought  to  be  punished!" 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Merry,  elevating 
his  eyebrows  slightly,  and  appearing  surprised. 

"Yes,  I  think  so !"  was  the  defiant  answer. 

"And  you  knew  she  cared  so  much  for  Billy?" 

"Yes,  I  knew  it." 

"It  can't  be  possible!  Why,  I  thought  you  loved 
Felicia,  your  cousin  I" 

"I  do!" 


160  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

"Oh,  I  can't  believe  it,  Dick— really  I  can't !" 

"I  do!  I  do!"  cried  the  boy  passionately.  "Don** 
vou  dare  say  I  don't!" 

"But  you  like  to  give  her  pain  ?" 

"No,  I  don't!" 

"Strange!  You  have  done  so  often  within  the 
past  two  days.  You  have  done  about  everything  you 
could  think  of  that  she  would  not  like  you  to  do,  end 
ing  with  hitching  that  old  tin  can  to  the  heels  of  her 
burro,  which  nearly  frightened  Billy  to  death." 

These  words  seemed  to  bring  to  the  mind  of  the 
boy  the  picture  of  the  wildly  kicking  burro,  with  his 
rolling  eyes  and  comical  aspect  of  terror  and  anger, 
and  he  suddenly  burst  into  a  peal  of  wild  laughter. 
In  a  moment  he  was  convulsed,  and  it  almost  seemed 
that  he  was  on  the  point  of  falling  and  rolling  on  the 
floor,  as  he  had  rolled  on  the  ground  outside. 

Beneath  the  window  the  old  Indian  continued  smo 
king,  but  a  grunt  that  seemed  an  expression  of  satis 
faction  came  from  his  lips  as  he  heard  that  burst  of 
laughter. 

Frank  did  not  laugh,  but  sat  there  quietly,  betray 
ing  no  effort  to  remain  grave,  until  the  lad  had  ceased 
to  give  expression  to  his  merriment. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  Merry  found 
it  no  easy  task  to  keep  a  sober  face  through  that 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  161 

burst  of  laughter,  about  which  there  seemed  some 
thing1  strangely  infectious. 

When  the  boy  had  quieted  down  somewhat,  Frank 
quietly  said : 

"You  must  have  forgotten  the  climax.  Felicia, 
in  her  anxiety  for  Billy,  ran  out,  was  knocked  down 
and  hurt.  She  might  have  been  killed.  But  what 
do  you  care?  You  laugh." 

"I  do  care!  I  do  care!"  panted  the  lad,  all  the 
laughter  gone  from  his  face  now.  "Billy  had  no 
right  to  hurt  her!  I'll  kill  him  if  he  does  it  again!" 

"Then  you  think  Billy  was  to  blame?  Of  course 
there  was  nothing  to  cause  Billy's  actions?  The  old 
tin  pail  that  was  hitched  to  his  tail  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it?" 

The  boy's  dark  eyes  looked  Frank  full  and  fear 
lessly  in  the  face,  but  his  face  flushed.  He  was  quick 
to  discern  the  trap  into  which  Merry  was  luring  him, 
and,  like  a  flash,  he  asked : 

"Were  you  ever  a  boy  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  smiled  the  young  athlete;  "I  believe  I 
was  once  on  a  time." 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  fun  ?" 

"Lots  of  it." 

"But  you  never  played  any  pranks,  did  you?** 

Merry  smiled  again,  seeing  how  the  lad  was  seeking 
to  turn  the  tables  on  him. 


162  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

"Yes,"  Frank  confessed  unhesitatingly,  "I  have, 
and  some  of  them  I  afterward  regretted.  I  want  you 
to  profit  by  my  experience,  I  know  how  much  you 
think  of  Felicia,  yet  you  did  not  pause  to  consider 
that  while  you  were  having  sport  with  her  donkey, 
Billy,  you  might  give  her  pain.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  harmless  fun,  Dick.  This  prank  of  yours,  like 
most  of  the  pranks  you  play,  caused  somebody  pain. 
You  are  my  brother,  Dick,  and  I  want  you  to  be  a 
little  more  careful." 

"How  do  I  know  I'm  your  brother?  My  father 
never  told  me  anything  about  you — that  is — until " 

Frank's  clear  eyes  had  disconcerted  the  boy,  caus 
ing  him  to  hesitate  and  falter  in  the  declaration  he  bad 
started  to  make. 

"He  told  you  about  me  before  he  died,"  said  Frank 
positively.  "He  told  you  how  my  mother  was  his  first 
wife,  which  made  us  half-brothers,  and  he  also  told 
you  that  I  would  come  to  take  you  and  care  for  you." 

"I  don't  want  you  to  take  me !  I  won't  let  you  take 
me!  I  am  satisfied  here,  and  I'm  going  to  stay  here! 
You  shall  not  take  me  away !" 

This  was  defiance  and  opposition  in  earnest,  but 
the  boy  could  not  see  that  it  produced  any  effect  on 
the  qufet-eyed  young  man  who  sat  before  him. 

"When  you  understand  rt  better,  Dick,"  said  Merry, 
"you  wiD  be  quite  willing  to  do  as  father  desired." 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  163 

"I  won't!  I  know  what  you  want.  You  want  to 
take  me  away  where  there  are  big  towns  and  lots  of 
people  and  every  boy  has  to  go  to  school.  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  school.  I  can  learn  all  I  want  to  know 
without  going  to  school." 

"You  think  you  can,  but  you  would  be  sure  to  find 
out  your  mistake  when  you  grew  up  and  became  a 
man.  Next  to  health,  education  is  the  most  valuable 
possession  in  the  world." 

"Next  to  health!  Why,  Old  Joe  says  white  folks 
in  the  big  towns  make  their  boys  and  girls  go  to 
school  till  they  get  weak  and  sickly  and  lose  their 
health.  He  says  the  white  boys  in  towns  study  till 
their  chests  are  flat,  and  they  cough,  and  their  eyes 
are  weak,  and  they  have  to  wear  glasses,  and  they 
have  no  muscles,  and  they  never  become  real  men 
at  all.  I'll  never  do  that!  I  can  read  and  write  and 
figure.  That  is  enough  education  of  that  kind.  Now 
Old  Joe  is  teaching  me  all  he  knows,  and  he  knows 
more  than  any  white  man  who  ever  lived." 

"I  see  Old  Joe  has  given  you  some  false  ideas, 
Dick,"  said  Frank  quietly,  as  he  stood  up.  "Take  a 
look  at  me.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  white  man's 
school.  Am  I  flat-chested?  Have  I  a  cough?  Are 
my  eyes  weak?" 

The  boy  regarded  Frank  searchingly  and  silently 


164  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

for  some  moments,  and  then  into  his  dark  eyes  came 
a  look  of  lofty  scorn,  as  he  said : 

"You're  a  tenderfoot !" 

Frank  laughed  outright. 

"Is  that  why  you  have  taken  such  an  aversion  to 
me?"  he  exclaimed. 

"That's  one  thing." 

"What's  another?" 

"You  want  to  boss  me." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"I  won't  be  bossed  by  you.  I  won't  do  as  you  say! 
Even  if  you  are  my  brother,  you  can't  make  me  do 
just  as  you  want  to!" 

Under  the  window  the  old  Indian  smoked  on,  ap 
parently  unhearing  or  unheeding. 

"Dick,"  said  Merry,  "I  shall  not  try  to  make  you 
do  anything  that  will  be  to  your  harm." 

"You  can't  make  me  do  anything,  whether  it's  to 
my  harm  or  not!" 

Frank  decided  that  he  had  been  incautious  in  let 
ting  the  word  "make"  pass  his  lips.  He  realized  that 
this  passionate,  impulsive  lad  must  be  governed  by 
reason,  and  that  it  would  not  do  to  try  to  drive  him. 
Dick's  proud  spirit  would  rebel  against  being  driven, 
even  though  he  knew  the  object  was  for  his  own  good. 

"You  must  see  from  me  that  not  all  boys  who  at 
tend  schools  lose  their  health.  In  fact,  the  best  schools 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  165 

to-day  have  gymnasiums  and  training-rooms  where 
the  students  can  work  every  day  to  become  strong, 
just  as  they  study  to  get  an  education.  And  all  over 
the  country  boys  are  at  work  educating  their  bodies 
while  they  educate  their  minds.  I  have  lots  to  tell 
you,  Dick,  about  their  games  and  their  contests  of 
strength  and  skill.  I  will  tell  you  about  baseball,  foot 
ball,  and  other  games." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear!  What  do  I  care?  I  shall 
never  play  any  of  those  games." 

"You  may  some  time." 

"Never!  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  They  are 
silly,  and  I  will  not  play  them." 

"When  you  get  older  you  will  learn  that  it  is  bad 
policy  to  form  a  conclusion  or  a  resolve  in  regard  to 
anything  you  know  nothing  about." 

"I  know  enough  about  those  games.  Only  white 
boys  play  them." 

"You  are  mistaken.  At  Carlisle  there  is  a  school  of 
Indian  boys,  and  those  young  Indians  learn  to  play 
baseball  and  football.  Every  year  the  Carlisle  base 
ball  and  football-teams  grow  stronger  and  more  diffi 
cult  to  defeat.  They  play  with  all  the  great  college 
teams,  and  they  enter  into  the  games  with  a  certain 
wild  joy  and  fierceness  that  make  the  contests  seem 
At  times  like  life-and-death  struggles.  You  should  see 


1 66  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

the  Carlisle  football-team  come  onto  the  field.  Eleven 
big,  bronzed  fellows  come  trotting  out  in  a  bunch 
upon  the  gridiron,  the  chalk-marks  of  which  look  like  a 
skeleton  bleaching  in  the  sun. 

"They  have  long,  coal-black  hair  and  flashing  eyes. 
They  have  been  trained  till  they  are  fit  to  do  their 
level  best.  All  around  that  chalk-marked  field  rise 
great  wooden  stands,  containing  tier  after  tier  of 
human  beings,  packed  in  as  thick  as  they  can  be, 
gathered  there  from  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  miles 
to  witness  the  game.  As  the  Indians  come  trotting 
out  they  are  given  a  great  cheer  from  their  admirers, 
both  red  and  white. 

"A  football,  like  a  huge  yellow  egg,  is  tossed  out 
on  the  ground  and  the  Indians  begin  to  chase  it  about 
and  fall  on  it  to  warm  up.  While  they  are  at  this 
there  comes  another  cry,  and  onto  the  field  comes 
the  team  of  the  white  players.  Then  in  front  of  those 
great  tiers  of  seats  men  rise  and  give  signals  with 
waving  arms.  At  those  signals  the  great  multitude 
breaks  into  a  mighty  cheer  for  the  white  contestants. 
Soon  the  game  is  ready  to  begin.  The  men  line  out 
on  the  field,  scattering  and  spreading  to  their  posi 
tions. 

"The  whites  have  their  first  kick  at  the  ball,  which 
has  been  placed  on  a  certain  spot,  and  the  best  kickes 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  167 

on  the  team  stands  off  and  gets  ready.  A  great  hush 
falls  on  the  people,  who  lean  forward,  lips  parted, 
eyes  staring,  waiting  for  the  moment.  Slowly  and 
with  steady  steps  the  kicker  advances  on  the  ball,  while 
the  players,  to  the  last  man,  crouch,  ready  to  leap  for 
ward.  The  leg  of  the  kicker  swings  back,  then  for 
ward,  and — plunk! — his  toe  strikes  the  ball,  which 
leaps  up  from  the  ground  and  sails  away,  away,  away, 
over  the  heads  of  the  Indians. 

"At  the  same  instant  the  white  players  dash  down 
the  field  after  the  ball.  Two  of  them  run  faster  than 
all  others,  darting  past  the  first  Indians  who  get  in 
their  path,  and  reach  the  spot  where  the  ball  is  coming 
down.  But  they  cannot  touch  it  again  till  it  has  been 
touched  by  an  Indian.  One  of  the  red  men's  swiftest 
runners  is  under  it,  ready  to  catch  it.  It  falls  into  his 
hands  and  he  holds  it,  instantly  springing  forward  to 
carry  it  toward  the  white  players'  territory.  One  of 
the  whites  leaps  at  him  to  clasp  him  and  bring  him 
down,  but,  without  using  his  hands,  another  Indian 
player  gets  in  front  of  the  white  and  blocks  him  off. 
The  crowd  roars.  The  runner  with  the  ball  dashes 
forward.  Another  white  is  after  him.  Both  run  like 
antelopes.  The  white  cannot  gain.  But  past  the  In 
dians  who  try  to  stop  him  comes  another  white,  who 
hurls  himself  headlong  like  an  arrow  through  the  air, 
clasping  the  Indian  about  the  legs,  and  down  they 


1 68  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

come  to  the  ground  in  a  flash.  On  top  of  them  leap 
five  or  six  players,  like  famished  wolves,  pinning  them 
there. 

"The  great  crowd  is  standing  now,  and  from  every 
throat  goes  up  a  shriek,  a  yell,  or  a  roar,  till  a  mighty 
volume  of  sound  leaps  to  the  sky.  The  players  quickly 
get  up.  The  ball  is  placed  just  where  it  was  held  when 
the  Indian  was  brought  down  by  the  white.  Then 
those  players  pack  together  in  two  close  masses,  facing 
each  other,  crouching,  looking  into  one  another's  eyes. 
Just  a  moment.  Then  the  ball  is  lifted,  passed  back, 
and  an  Indian  goes  leaping  and  plunging  right  into 
the  midst  of  the  compact  mass  of  white  players,  pushed 
and  jammed  and  hurled  forward  by  every  man  of  his 
own  side  that  can  help  him,  while  his  friends  block  off 
the  whites  with  their  bodies.  But  the  whites  can  use 
their  hands,  and  they  hurl  the  Indians  aside,  grapple 
the  one  with  the  ball,  down  him  again. 

"The  whites  have  kept  their  red  rivals  from  making 
a  gain,  and  once  more  the  great  roar  goes  up  from 
the  crowd.  But  next  time  a  man  grasps  the  ball  and 
goes  darting  and  leaping  round  one  end  of  the  bunch 
of  players.  He  dodges  two  who  hurl  themselves  at 
him,  he  escapes  the  tacklers,  and  away  he  races  down 
the  field,  with  every  man  after  him,  like  coyotes  run 
ning  down  a  wild  horse.  One  gains,  gets  close,  springs, 
and  again  the  man  with  the  ball  goes  down,  with  man 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  169 

after  man  jumping  on  him  to  pin  him  fast.  Flags  are 
waving,  men  are  roaring,  women  are  screaming.  A 
band  is  playing,  but  the  thundering  of  the  crowd 
drowns  it.  The  players  rise  again.  Again  they  crouch, 

ready  for  the  next  struggle,  and " 

''But  I  forgot  that  you  do  not  care  for  this,  Dick. 
Of  course,  you  do  not  want  to  hear  about  anything 
so  silly,  and  I'll  stop." 

"Don't  stop!"  cried  the  boy  breathlessly.  "Go  on  I 
Tell  me  some  more." 

Then,  as  Frank  did  not  resume  at  once,  he  stamped 
his  foot,  almost  shouting : 

"Goon!  I  must  hear  it!  I  will  hear  it!  Tell  me 
some  more." 

Frank  knew  he  had  won  a  point,  but  he  did  not 
betray  satisfaction.  However,  he  compelled  Dick  to 
beg  for  a  continuance,  and  then  went  on  with  his 
thrilling  account  of  a  football-game,  which  he  made 
more  thrilling  as  he  advanced. 

Merry  knew  how  to  play  on  the  feelings  of  this 
spirited,  high-strung  lad,  and  he  had  Dick  throbbing 
with  breathless  excitement  as  he  pictured  the  tide  of 
battle  rolling  back  and  forth  over  the  football-field. 

When  Merry  permitted,  in  his  fanciful  recital,  the 
Indians  to  score  the  first  touch-down  and  goal,  Dick 
actually  danced  with  joy. 


A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

"I  knew  it!"  he  cried.  "I  knew  the  Indians,  who 
lived  in  the  open  air,  could  beat  the  whites,  who  spend 
their  days  in  schools." 

"But  the  game  is  not  over  yet,"  said  Merry. 

He  continued,  turning  the  tables  with  skill,  till  he 
showed  how,  by  superior  generalship,  the  whites  finally 
defeated  their  red  antagonists.  In  order  to  hold  the 
interest  of  the  boy  to  the  last,  he  was  forced  to  make 
the  game  very  close,  but  the  whites  finally  won. 

"I  don't  believe  they  could  do  it!"  said  Dick  in 
dignantly. 

"But  they  do  do  it,"  said  Frank.  "Of  course,  the 
Carlisle  boys  win  sometimes,  but  they  cannot  defeat 
the  great  colleges,  like  Yale  and  Harvard." 

"Then  they  are  not  used  fairly.  The  white  men 
never  did  use  the  Indians  right." 

"Old  Joe  has  found  you  an  apt  pupil,"  observed 
Merry.  "It  is  true  that  in  many  things  the  red  men 
have  been  unfairly  treated,  but  not  in  football.  When 
you  go  East  with  me,  I'll  take  you  to  see  some  of 
the  games." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  lad  sparkled  for  a  moment,  and 
then  he  said : 

"I'm  not  going  East.    I  had  rather  stay  here." 

"You  will  change  your  mind  about  that  later.  In 
fact,  I  am  sure  you  will." 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  171 

"I'll  not  leave  Felicia  and  Old  Joe." 

"That  is  loyal  of  you,  Dick.  It  shows  the  spirit  ®f 
constancy  to  your  friends,  and  a  fellow  who  is  not 
constant  to  his  friends  is  a  very  poor  chap,  indeed." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  boy,  "I  might  go  just  t«  see 
what  the  East  is  like,  if  I  didn't  know  you'd  want  me 
to  go  into  one  of  those  schools,  I'll  not  do  that,  be 
cause  I  want  to  be  healthy  and  strong." 

Frank  smiled. 

"Do  I  look  unhealthy?"  he  asked. 

"N-no ;  but  I  don't  believe  you  could  stand  it  to  live 
like  a  cow-puncher." 

"Don't  you?" 

"Of  course  you  couldn't!    No  tenderfoot  could.'' 

This  time  Merry  laughed  outright.  The  wisdom  of 
the  boy  was  amusing. 

"Well,  we'll  not  argue  about  that;  but  you  can  see 
that  I  am  not  weak-eyed,  flat-chested,  or  sickly.  Yet 
when  I  was  a  year  or  two  younger  than  you  I  was 
weak  and  sickly,  so  that  there  were  fears  concerning 
my  ability  to  ever  become  s-trong  and  sturdy.  I 
began  to  train  to  acquire  strength  and  health.  I 
kept  at  it  persistently,  and  the  improvement  in  a  few 
months  was  surprising.  At  your  age  I  was  stronger 
than  you  are  now." 

A  look  of  indignant  contradiction  flashed  over  the 
expressive  face  of  the  boy. 


172  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

"I  do  not  believe  it !"  he  flatly  declared. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Frank.  "When  I  entered  the  mili 
tary  school  at  which  I  fitted  for  college  I  was  some 
thing  of  an  athlete,  but  while  at  that  school  I  made 
the  greatest  progress.  It  was  there  that  I  really  be 
came  an  athlete  of  some  consequence." 

Still  it  was  plain  the  boy  was  not  convinced. 

"That  school,"  continued  Merry,  "is  one  of  the  best 
in  the  country  for  boys  who  need  building  up  in  body 
as  well  as  mind.  Since  I  left  it  vast  improvements 
have  been  made  there.  When  a  student  enters  now 
he  is  compelled  to  pass  a  physical  examination  at  the 
hands  of  a  competent  professor,  and  all  his  weak  points 
are  noted  and  recorded.  Every  day  he  is  required  to 
spend  a  certain  length  of  time  in  the  gymnasium  build 
ing  up  those  weak  points  and  strengthening  himself 
generally.  For  this  very  reason  Fardale  Military 
Academy  is  turning  out  vigorous,  healthy  young  chaps, 
who  are  well  prepared  for  the  strain  of  study  and 
competition  during  their  college  careers;  or,  if  he  does 
not  enter  college,  he  is  ready  to  begin  the  battle  of 
life  with  a  stout  heart  and  plenty  of  stamina  to  meet 
all  sorts  of  hardships. 

"It's  no  use  to  talk  to  me,"  said  the  boy  stubbornly. 
"I  don't  want  to  go  to  school,  and  I'm  not  going." 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  173 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  afraid!"  exclaimed  Merry, 
as  if  greatly  disappointed. 

"Afraid?"  cried  Dick.    "Who's  afraid?" 

"You  must  be." 

"Of  what?" 

"You  must  be  afraid  to  have  your  weak  spots  dis 
covered.  You  are  a  trifle  hollow  just  in  front  of  your 
shoulders,  and  your  neck  is  not  quite  large  enough  at 
the  base.  You  would  have  to  train  at  Fardale  to  cor 
rect  these  weaknesses." 

Dick's  eyes  flashed  with  angry  indignation. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  anything  of  the  sort!"  he  as 
serted. 

"Oh,  then  you  do  not  care  to  become  as  strong  as 
the  boys  who  graduate  from  Fardale  Academy?" 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  your  old  academy!" 
cried  Dick,  his  cheeks  burning  and  his  hands  clenched. 
"I  don't  believe  your  stories  about  great  college  ath 
letes.  I  know  you're  not  weak,  but  I'll  bet  others  are." 

"Hodge  is  another.    You  have  seen  him." 

"Well,  that's  only  two ;  and  I  don't  believe  you  two 
are  equal  to  Western  men." 

"All  my  friends,"  said  Merriwell,  "are  strong  and 
athletic.  You  may  have  an  opportunity  to  see  an 
other  one  of  them  when  Hodge  gets  back  from  Den 
ver.  He  has  gone  there  to  meet  one  of  my  college 


174  A  Rebellious  Spirit. 

chums,  who  has  come  West  to  spend  the  summer  va 
cation.  I  have  written  to  several  others,  and,  unless 
I  am  much  disappointed,  you'll  have  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  what  sort  of  fellows  they  are  before  very 
long." 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  them,"  said  Dick  sulk- 
ily. 

"Then  I'll  make  you  care  about  them,"  was  Frank's 
quiet  assertion. 

"You  can't!"  cried  the  boy,  all  his  spirit  of  opposi 
tion  awakened  instantly.  "You  can't  make  me  do 
anything !" 

The  look  on  Frank's  face  was  one  of  quiet  con 
fidence,  and  it  seemed  to  anger  the  boy  more  than 
words,  for  it  plainly  told  him  that  Merry  had  not  the 
least  doubt  about  succeeding  in  his  object. 

Still  into  Dick's  mind  there  had  crept  a  fear  that 
somehow  this  handsome,  confident  brother  of  his 
possessed  strength  of  will  sufficient  to  conquer  him, 
and  this  thought  made  him  desperate,  so  that  he  was 
tempted  to  exhaust  his  powers  of  resistance,  just  as 
a  wild  bird  beats  out  its  strength  against  the  iron  bars 
of  its  cage. 

"You  may  go  now,  Dick,"  said  Merry  quietly. 

The  boy  did  not  stir,  but  stood  there  looking  at  him 
with  those  defiant  black  eyes. 

Merry,  however,  sat  down  and  resumed  his  writing, 


A  Rebellious  Spirit.  175 

just  as  if  Dick  had  left  the  room;  nor  did  he  give 
the  lad  the  least  attention. 

After  a  time  the  boy  stole  silently  out  of  the  room, 
and,  despite  himself,  into  his  heart  there  stole  a  sense 
of  defeat — a  growing  knowledge  that  he  had  encoun 
tered  a  master  mind. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DICK    AND    OLD    JOE. 

Having  been  reared  in  that  wild  section,  and  per 
mitted  to  have  his  own  way  in  almost  everything, 
Dick  Merriwell  had  developed  into  a  high-spirited  lad 
who  fretted  like  an  unbroken  mustang  beneath  the 
bit  of  restraint.  To  him  the  thought  of  giving  in  to 
the  will  of  another  was  repugnant,  even  though  the 
wishes  and  plans  of  that  other  might  be  for  his  own 
good. 

Little  did  he  know  that,  to  a  certain  extent,  the 
evidences  of  pride  and  spirit  he  had  betrayed  had 
given  his  brother  considerable  satisfaction.  Little  did 
he  know  that  he  had  convinced  Frank  that  there  was 
in  him  the  making  of  something  out  of  the  ordinary. 

Such,  however,  was  the  case.  Frank  would  have 
been  keenly  disappointed  had  he  found  his  brother 
lacking  in  spirit  and  determination.  Having  found 
the  boy  as  he  was,  Merry  was  studying  him  and  seek 
ing  to  discover  the  best  manner  to  successfully  lead 
Dick  on  to  his  own  good.  Merry  realized  that  the 
task  might  prove  rather  difficult,  but  this  gave  it  all 
the  more  fascination  and  interest  for  him. 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  177 

Having  left  Frank,  Dick  passed  out  of  the  cabin  and 
walked  slowly  away.  When  he  had  passed  beneath 
the  thick  shadows  of  some  trees  he  felt  a  touch  on  his 
shoulder,  and  turned  to  find  Old  Joe  close  behind  him. 

"Gracious!"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "I  didn't  know 
you  were  following.  I  didn't  hear  you." 

"Little  Hurricane  keep  him  ear  open,"  grunted  the 
eld  fellow.  "Joe  teach  him  to  hear." 

"I  know,  Joe,  but  I  was  thinking,  and  I  forgot." 

"Must  never  forget  if  um  want  to  be  like  red  man/* 

"But — but  something  happened  to  make  me  forget."1 

"Heap  bad!" 

"You  are  right,  Joe.    It  was  careless  of  me." 

"Heap  much,"  nodded  the  Indian.  "Joe  him  teacli 
Little  Hurricane  to  hear  snake  in  grass,  bird  in  air, 
panther  on  moss — everything." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  have  taught  me  all  that,  Joe;  but 
it  is  Indian  lore,  and  sometimes  I  forget  myself  and 
know  no  more  than  a  white  man." 

"Must  never  forget,"  repeated  Old  Joe.  "Heap 
bad!  Some  time  enemy  he  ketch  um  when  um  have 
forget." 

"But  it  was  enough  to  make  anybody  forget.  My 
brother "  , 

"Joe  know ;  him  hear." 

"You  heard?' 


178  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

"Ugh !"  was  the  affirmative  grunt  of  the  old  fellow. 
"Me  hear.  Set  under  wrndow ;  hear  everything." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Joe?  He  means 
to  boss  me,  Joe !  He  sha'n't" 

"Him  heap  big  boss." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

The  Indian  squatted  on  the  ground,  with  his  baclc 
against  a  tree. 

"Down,"  he  said. 

The  boy  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  resting  his 
head  on  one  elbow  and  looking  into  his  companion's 
wrinkled  face.  They  were  quite  alone,  where  no  one 
could  see  them,  yet  the  eyes  of  the  Indian  turned 
swiftly  from  side  to  side,  and  his  ears  seemed  to  be 
lifted,  like  those  of  a  listening  catamount. 

Dick  remained  perfectly  quiet  and  waited. 

"Him  heap  big  boss,"  repeated  Old  Joe,  after  some 
moments.  "Him  have  way.** 

"I  don't  understand." 

"Him  have  way  to  make  all  do  as  him  say." 

"He  can't  make  me  do  as  he  says !  I'll  never  give 
up  to  him !" 

The  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"Little  Hurricane  him  think  so  now." 

"I  know  it  1    I  won't  let  him  be  my  boss !" 

"Old  Joe  him  see  something  in  Steady  Hand's 
eye." 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  179 

"You  call  my  brother  Steady  Hand  ?" 

"Ugh !  Him  eye  heap  strong.  Old  Joe  look  into  it 
Heap  strong  to  make  everybody  do  way  him  want." 

"I  don't  care!  He  can't  do  it  with  me!  I  won't 
let  him!" 

"Think  so  now;  think  not  so  bimeby." 

"Never!"  panted  the  boy.  "Why,  Joe,  he  wants 
to  take  me  away !" 

"Joe  know." 

"He  wants  to  put  me  into  school." 

"Joe  know." 

"He  would  make  me  just  like  any  other  boy." 

"Little  Hurricane  have  to  go." 

"You're  crazy,  Joe!  I  tell  you  I  won't,  and  he 
can't  make  me!  I  shall  stay  here  with  you — and 
Felicia." 

Again  the  Indian  shook  his  head. 

"Steady  Hand  him  strong  mind ;  make  you  do  way 
him  want,"  asserted  the  old  fellow  positively.  ''Him 
have  strength  to  do  so  in  him  eye.  Him  know  way 
to  do  it." 

The  face  of  the  boy  paled  now,  for  he  placed  im 
plicit  confidence  in  anything  the  old  Indian  said. 

"Then  I'll  kill  myself !"  he  panted,  springing  up.  "I 
won't  let  him  boss  me !  I'll  kill  myself  first !" 

"Down,"  said  Old  Joe,  with  a  gesture,  and,  all  urt- 


i8o  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

conscious  that  he  was  obeying  a  master,  tfie  bo, 
dropped  to  the  ground  again. 

For  some  moments  the  aged  Indian  was  silent, 
looking  fixedly  at  the  lad. 

"Mebbe  it  be  better,"  he  said. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  demanded  Dick. 
"Maybe  what  will  be  better?" 

"For  you  to  do  same  Steady  Hand  want." 

"You're  crazy!"  again  asserted  the  boy.  "I  can't 
iflo  it!  I  will  not  be  shut  up  in  any  old  school.  I 
love  the  open  air  and  the  freedom  of  the  mountains 
and  plains!  I  love  to  wander  alone  in  the  deep  for 
est  and  listen  to  its  murmuring  voice.  The  trees 
talk  to  me,  Joe,  and  all  the  wild  creatures  know  me. 
Do  you  think  I  am  fool  enough  to  give  this  up  for 
a  stifling  schoolroom  and  the  study  of  books  that 
will  make  my  head  ache  and  make  me  weak?  I  tell 
you  I  will  kill  myself  first !" 

The  face  of  the  Indian  remained  grave  and  expres 
sionless,  but  there  was  a  twinkle  of  pride  and  satis 
faction  in  his  keen  old  eyes. 

"You  have  Injun  heart,"  he  said.  "You  skin  white; 
heart  Injun." 

"I'm  not  a  fool,  and  I  won't  let  him  make  me  one !" 

"Then  only  one  thing  um  can  do." 

"What  is  it?    Tell  me,  Joe!" 

"Go  'way." 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  181 

Dick  caught  his  breath. 

"Go  away?" 

"Ugh!" 

"Where?" 

"Anywhere." 

"You  mean  to  run  away?" 

"Ugh!" 

"And  leave  Felicia?" 

"Some  time  um  come  back.  Steady  Hand  take 
%un,  um  never  come  back." 

"Run  away — alone?" 

"Old  Joe  him  don't  have  to  stay." 

The  face  of  the  boy  flushed,  and  he  panted : 

"You  will  go — you'll  go  with  me,  Joe?" 

"Ugh !  Joe  him  'bout  ready  to  go.  Him  tired  stay 
here." 

"And  you  will  take  me  with  you — where?" 

"Prairie  big,  mountains  deep,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  they  will  not  be  able  to  find  us  ?" 

"Never  find  Old  Joe." 

"I'll  do  it!"  the  boy  suddenly  decided.  "Joe,  I'll 
go  with  you  anywhere  to  get  away  from  him.  And 
we'll  go  this  very  night!" 

Old  Joe  Crowfoot  returned  to  his  seat  by  the  cabin 
wall  and  resumed  his  smoking,  apparently  perfectly 
contented. 

Dick  wandered  away  by  himself,  passing  through 


1 82  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

the  woods,  which  led  down  to  the  shore  of  Lake  Sun 
shine. 

The  boy  was  happy  again,  believing  that  he  was 
going  to  remain  his  own  master  and  live  the  wild,  free 
life  that  he  loved,  so  he  whistled  as  he  passed  through 
the  woods.  His  whistling  was  like  the  warbling  of 
a  mocking-bird,  full  of  liquid  sweetness  and  trills,  and 
soon  he  was  answered  from  the  branches  overhead, 
where  the  flit  of  wings  could  be  seen.  He  was  calling 
the  birds  in  their  own  language,  and  they  were  an 
swering.  The  strange  notes  that  came  from  his  pursed 
lips  were  marvelous  to  hear,  and  the  birds  came  flying 
after  him,  flitting  from  tree  to  tree. 

By  the  shore  of  the  lake  he  found  a  comfortable 
spot  beneath  a  wide-spreading  tree,  and  there  he  flung 
himself  on  the  ground,  continuing  his  birdlike  calls. 
The  birds  gathered  on  the  branches  above  him,  look 
ing  down  at  him  with  fearless  curiosity. 

A  squirrel  chattered  not  far  away,  and  immediately 
the  sound  was  perfectly  imitated  by  the  boy,  who  added 
to  it  the  call  that  the  squirrel  makes  to  its  mate.  Soon 
the  handsome  little  fellow  came  leaping  from  limb  to 
limb  of  the  trees  until  he  had  reached  the  one  beneath 
which  the  boy  rested.  Then,  by  fits  and  starts,  he 
descended  to  the  ground  and  approached  the  lad.  In 
a  few  moments  Dick  had  called  the  wild  squirrel  of 
the  woods  to  his  knee. 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  183 

Then  down  from  the  tree  dropped  a  bird,  alighting 
on  Dick's  shoulder.  The  other  birds  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  until  nearly  all  were  gathered  on  the  lower 
branches  of  the  tree. 

Behold  Dick  Merriwell,  the  wild,  strange  boy  of 
this  mountain  valley,  in  all  his  glory,  king  of  the  birds. 
This  is  the  life  that  appeals  to  him  and  to  which  he 
clings.  This  is  what  he  declines  to  forsake  for  school 
or  any  of  the  advantages  which  Frank  Merriwell  has 
offered  to  give  him. 

Dick  laughed  and  talked  to  the  squirrel,  his  voice 
low,  soft,  and  musical.  The  squirrel  whisked  his  tail 
over  his  back  and  looked  the  lad  fearlessly  in  the  face. 
A  jealous  bird  darted  down  at  the  squirrel  and  com 
pelled  the  little  animal  to  hop  from  the  boy's  knee, 

"Oh,  ha,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Dick  softly.  "Quarreling, 
are  you  ?  Stop  it — stop  it  this  minute !  There's  room 
enough  for  you  both.  No  need  to  be  jealous.  Frank 
tells  about  his  friends.  What  are  his  friends  compared 
to  mine!  I  would  not  give  up  my  friends  for  all  of 
his." 

For  some  time  he  remained  there,  with  his  wild 
friends  about  him.  At  last,  a  voice  was  heard  calling 
through  the  woods : 

"Dick!    Dick!    Where  are  you,  Dick?" 

The  squirrel  started  up  in  a  listening  attitude,  while 
'wo  or  three  of  the  birds  flew  away  at  once. 


1 84  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

"Dick!    Oh,  Dick J    Where  are  you?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Felicia. 

"She  won't  hurt  you,"  said  the  boy,  to  the  squirrel 
and  the  birds.  "You  need  not  be  afraid  of  her." 

The  little  girl  was  heard  coming  through  the  woods, 
and  more  of  the  birds  took  alarm,  quickly  darting  away 
on  silent  wings. 

"Here,  Felicia — here  I  am,"  answered  Dick. 

The  squirrel  did  not  stop  longer.  With  a  flirt  of  its 
tail,  it  bounded  to  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  up  which  it 
scampered. 

Felicia  came  running  toward  the  tree,  but  when  she 
got  there  the  squirrel  was  gone  and  not  a  bird  re 
mained. 

This  seemed  strange  enough,  for  surely  Felicia  was 
the  more  gentle  of  the  two  in  appearance,  and  she 
was  so  tender-hearted  that  for  the  world  she  would 
not  harm  the  weakest  creature  in  all  creation. 

But  about  the  boy  there  was  a  certain  quality  that 
few  human  beings  possess — a  magnetism  that  attracted 
the  wild  things  of  nature.  He  had  listened  to  the 
voices  of  these  creatures  and  learned  their  calls.  He 
had  watched  them  till  he  knew  all  their  ways.  And 
his  heart  went  out  to  them  in  sympathy,  for  their 
wild,  free  life  seemed  to  him  the  perfect  life. 

"I  didn't  know  where  you  were,  Dick,"  said  little 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  185 

Felicia,  her  dark  eyes  full  of  gladness  because  she  had 
found  him. 

"I  didn't  think  you'd  care,"  said  Dick. 

"Care?"  she  cried,  flinging  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  kissing  him.  "Why,  how  can  you  say  that? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  You  know,  Dick — you  know  how 
much  I  love  you!" 

"After— after  I  did— that?" 

"What?"  ••-# 

"You  know— to  Billy?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Dick — yes!  I  know  you  didn't  mean  to 
hurt  Billy." 

"It  didn't  hurt  him,  Felicia." 

"But  it  frightened  him." 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  the  boy  declared.  "He  was 
standing  there  asleep.  I  found  the  old  tin  can,  and 
I  thought  what  fun  it  would  be  to  hitch  it  to  his  tail. 
Then  I  got  a  string,  tied  it  to  the  pail,  made  a  loop,  and 
slipped  it  onto  Billy's  tail." 

"It's  a  wonder  Billy  didn't  kick  you." 

"He  would  if  anybody  else  had  tried  the  trick,  but 
I  don't  suppose  he  thought  I'd  do  such  a  thing.  I  be 
trayed  Billy's  confidence  in  me." 

"You  won't  do  it  again,  will  you,  Dick?" 

"No.  I  wouldn't  have  done  it  then  if  I'd  stopped 
to  think  how  much  you  would  care." 


1 86  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

"Oh,  you  dear  Dick!" 

She  gave  him  a  loving  hug. 

"But  it  was  awfully  funny!"  he  cried,  his  laughter 
beginning  to  bubble  up  within  him.  "Oh,  you  should 
have  seen  Billy  when  I  let  the  old  thing  bang  against 
his  heels!  Oh,  dear!  how  he  did  jump!  Oh,  my! 
how  he  did  kick!  Then  be  brayed  and  kicked,  and 
the  old  pail  came  banging  back  against  his  heels  every 
time.  And  he  rolled  his  eyes  round  at  it  and  looked 
so  comical — so  comical!  Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!  Ha!  ha! 
ha!  ha!  ha!" 

The  elfish  laughter  of  the  strange  lad  rilled  the  forest 
with  its  merry  sound.  Convulsed  with  merriment  over 
the  remembrance,  Dick  lay  on  the  ground  and  clung 
to  his  sides,  while  Felicia  stood  near,  compelled  to 
laugh  despite  herself. 

"Oh,  you're  so  happy,  Dick !"  she  said. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  laughter  stopped  and  the  mer 
riment  left  his  face. 

"I'm  not  happy  I"  he  said,  sitting  up. 

"Not  happy?"  she  gasped. 

"No,  I'm  miserable !"  he  declared. 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Felicia,  "Is  it  anything  I  have 
done?" 

"No,  no!    It's  him  I" 

"Him?" 


Dick  and  Old  Joe.  187 

"My  brother." 

"Frank?" 

"Yes." 

"What  has  he  done?"' 

"I  hate  him!" 

"Did  he  punish  you?" 

"I  guess  not !  You  don't  think  he'd  dare?  But  1 
hate  him!" 

"Oh,  Dick!  you  mustn't  forget  that  he  is  your 
brother!" 

"I  don't  care !  What  right  has  he  to  be  my  brother  ? 
!I  don't  want  a  brother!  All  I  want  is  you,  Felicia!" 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  that  way !     It's  wrong !" 

"I  don't  care  if  it  is !  Do  you  know  what  he  wants 
to  do  ?  Well,  he  wants  to  take  me  away — away  from 
you!" 

She  gave  a  little  cry  and  clung  to  him. 

"He  wants  to  put  me  in  an  old  school.  I'm  not 
going  to  school,  for  I  know  enough  of  that  kind  of 
teaming  now." 

"You'll  have  to  do  what  he  says." 

"Don't  you  think  so!  He  can't  make  me  do  it! 
He'll  find  that  he  can't!" 

"It  was  in  your  papa's  will." 


188  Dick  and  Old  Joe. 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference;  I  won't  do  it, 
just  the  same." 

"What  can  you  do?" 

"I  am  going  to  run  away!"  answered  the  boy 
promptly.  "I'm  going  off  where  he  can't  follow,  and 
he'll  never  get  me — never,  never,  never !" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AWAKENED     JEALOUSY. 

Little  Felicia  uttered  a  cry  of  horror,  her  face 
paling. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  Dick !"  she  exclaimed,  getting  hold  of 
him  with  both  hands.  "You  don't  mean  that!  Why, 
I'll  never  see  you  again!  Oh,  Dick!  Dick!" 

She  was  filled  with  fear  and  distress  at  the  thought, 
and  she  clung  to  him  as  if  afraid  that  he  would  start 
at  once. 

"Oh,  but  you  will  see  me  again!"  he  quickly  de 
clared.  "That  is  why  I  am  running  away.  It's  so, 
after  he  is  gone,  I  can  come  back  to  you." 

"But  where  will  you  go?    Where  can  you  go?" 

"Old  Joe  knows.  I  have  been  with  him  before. 
'He  will  take  care  of  me." 

"Old  Joe?    Then  he " 

"Is  going  with  me.  You  mustn't  tell,  Felicia.  We 
are  going  away  this  night." 

"Oh,  so  soon?" 

"The  sooner  the  better.  I  can't  stay  here,  for  I 
mill  not  let  that  man  be  my  master." 

"Oh,  but  you  do  not  have  to  go  so  soonl    He 


190  Awakened  Jealousy. 

doesn't  wish  to  take  you  away  from  here  yet.  You 
may  stay  with  me  a  little  longer,  Dick." 

"No  one  knows  when  he  may  make  up  his  mind 
to  take  me  away.  He  wants  to  carry  me  away  off 
to  the  East,  and  put  me  into  a  school,  where  I  know 
I  should  die.  It  is  dangerous  to  wait,  Felicia." 

The  girl  fell  to  sobbing,  and  he  put  his  arm  about 
her. 

"There,  there !"  he  said,  in  a  soft  and  soothing  voice. 
"Don't  cry  about  it,  dear  cousin — please  don't.  I'll 
come  back  to  you — I  swear  it !  Before  long  I  will  be 
a  man,  and  then  he  can't  take  me  from  you.  I'll 
stay  with  you  always  then." 

He  soothed  her  after  a  little,  kissing  away  the  tears. 

"But  you  must  promise  not  to  tell  a  soul  about  \\hat 
I  am  going  to  do,"  he  suddenly  said.  "He  must  not 
know  it,  for  he  would  try  to  stop  me." 

"If  he  should " 

"He'd  better  not  try  it!"  panted  the  boy,  his  dark 
eyes  flashing.  "I  am  going  with  Old  Joe  away  into 
the  mountains,  and  he  can  never  find  me.  After  a 
while  he  will  get  sick  of  hunting  for  me,  and  then 
he'll  go  away.  Joe  will  know  when  he  goes  away, 
and  I'll  come  back  here  to  you." 

Her  face  brightened  a  little. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you'll  come  back!  But  do  you 
think  it  is  right?" 


Awakened  Jealousy.  191 

"What?" 

"Running  away." 

"What's  the  difference?" 

"He  is  so  good,  and — and  I  can't  help — liking  him, 
Dick." 

"That's  the  way.  Once  or  twice  I've  almost  felt 
that  way,  but  I  won't  let  myself.  I  know  what  he 
means  to  do  with  me,  and  I  just  won't  like  him !" 

"But  perhaps  what  he  means  to  do  would  be  for 
your  good,  Dick.  Other  boys  go  to  school,  and " 

"Some  do,  and  some  don't!  Old  Joe  says  those 
;who  don't  are  better  off  than  those  who  do." 

"Do  you  suppose  Old  Joe  knows?" 

"Of  course  he  does !"  exclaimed  the  boy  confidently. 
"Old  Joe  taught  me  to  call  the  birds  and  the  beasts. 
He  taught  me  to  follow  a  trail  and  to  shoot  and  do 
many  things  that  no  boy  ever  leams  in  school.  He 
is  a  better  teacher  than  all  the  schoolmasters  in  the 
whole  world." 

"But  some  time  you  may  have  to  do  things  that 
Old  Joe  does  not  understand,  and  then " 

"Never,  for  I'm  going  to  live  my  whole  life  away 
from  the  big  towns.  You  shall  live  with  me,  Felicia, 
and  we'll  be  just  as  happy  as — as  the  birds.  Now 
listen — to-night,  when  everything  is  still,  I  am  going. 
Old  Joe  will  be  waiting  for  me  over  by  the  big  Black 
Rock.  When  morning  comes,  and  they  find  I  am 


19*  Awakened  Jealousy. 

gone,  we  shall  be  so  far  away  that  no  one  can  catch 
us.  Then  I  want  you  to  tell  them  that  I  ran  away 
because  I  would  not  let  my  brother  be  my  master. 
Will  you  tell  them  that,  Felicia?" 

"Yes,  Dick — I'll  do  anything  for  you." 

"Dear  Felicia!  Be  brave,  and  I'll  come  back  to 
you.  Don't  tell  that  I'm  ever  coming  back,  because 
then  he  might  stay  and  watch  for  me.  That  would 
simply  keep  me  away,  for  I  shall  know  how  long 
he  stays  and  when  he  goes.  If  you  wish  me  to  re 
turn  soon,  don't  tell." 

She  promised  that  she  would  not,  though  in  her 
heart  she  felt  that  she  was  doing  something  wrong. 
For  him,  however,  she  would  do  it.  He  was  the 
only  playmate  she  had  ever  known,  and  she  thought 
him  the  most  wonderful  boy  in  all  the  world. 

Sometimes  Felicia  had  sat  quite  still  at  a  distance 
and  watched  Dick  call  the  birds  and  the  tiny  wild 
things  of  the  woods  about  him,  delighted  and  amazed 
by  his  power.  But  when  she  had  tried  to  approach 
they  had  fled;  when  she  sought  to  call  them  they 
would  not  respond.  She  could  not  understand  the 
mystery  of  it,  but  in  her  mind  was  the  conviction  that 
Dick  was  like  the  wild  creatures  that  approached  him 
without  fear,  and  now  it  seemed  wrong  for  any  one 
to  think  of  taking  him  from  the  scenes  he  loved  and 
placing  him  in  a  school. 


Awakened  Jealousy.  193 

"I'll  tnink  of  you  every  day  when  I'm  away,  Fe 
licia/'  he  promised. 

"And  I'll  think  of  you,  Dick,"  she  murmured. 
"When  I  say  my  prayers  at  night  I'll  pray  for  you." 

"Dear  little  Felicia!"  he  exclaimed  again.  "We 
won't  let  my  bad  brother  separate  us." 

"Oh,  I  do  not  think  he  is  bad,  Dick — I  can't  think 
that !  He  is  handsome,  and  he  has  such  a  good  face  !'* 

A  strange  light  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  the  lad, 
while  he  flushed  hotly. 

"He  knows  how  to  fool  people,"  said  Dick;  "but 
I  know  he's  bad." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Felicia.  "He  has  held  me  on  his 
knee  and  told  me  stories  and  talked  to  me.  You  are 
wrong,  Dick.  He  is  not  bad." 

"He  is!  he  is!"  panted  the  boy,  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  jealousy.  "Don't  ever  let  him  take  you  on  his  knee 
again,  Felicia!"  He  grasped  her  by  the  wrists  and 
glared  into  her  startled  eyes.  "Promise  me  that  you 
will  not  let  him  take  you  on  his  knee  again.  Promise ! 
promise  !*' 

She  was  frightened  by  his  sudden  fierceness,  and 
the  clutch  on  her  wrists  caused  her  to  cry  out  with 
pain : 

"Oh,  oh!  you  are  hurting  me!  I'll  promise;  only; 
don't  hurt  me!" 

Her  face  paled  and  showed  her  pain,  which  struck: 


194  Awakened  Jealousy. 

him  to  the  heart  with  remorse.  Instantly  he  re 
leased  her  wrists  and  clasped  his  arm  about  her,  say 
ing  pleadingly : 

"Forgive  me,  please  forgive  me!  I  didn't  mean  to 
hurt  you — truly,  I  didn't!  But  it  made  me  mad  to 
think  about  you  sitting  on  his  knee,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  I  was  doing.  Oh,  say  I  did  not  hurt  you 
much!" 

He  kissed  her  wrists  and  showered  her  with  ca 
resses,  his  manner  full  of  passionate  devotion. 

"You  hurt  just  a  little,"  she  declared  bravely ;  "but 
it  was  only  for  a  minute.  It's  all  gone  now — now 
you  have  kissed  it,  Dick." 

"If  you  knew  how  I  hate  to  leave  you  even  for  a 
little  while!"  he  exclaimed. 

"If  you  knew  how  I  hate  to  have  you  go!"  she 
breathed. 

"My  brave,  sweet  little  cousin!"  he  said,  with  the 
air  of  a  manly  lover.  "But  you  must  not  sit  on 
Frank's  knee,  and  you  must  keep  away  from  him 
as  much  as  you  can.  Promise  me  that  you  will  do 
as  I  ask." 

"Oh,  111  promise,  Dick!" 

"Don't  look  at  him  when  he  talks  to  you — don't 
look  into  his  eyes.  If  you  do,  he  will  get  the  best 
of  you,  for  there  is  something  in  his  eyes  that  it  is 


Awakened  Jealousy.  195 

Hard  to  resist.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  I  have 
felt  it." 

He  led  her  to  make  many  promises  of  the  sort,  and 
she  did  so,  though  she  knew  it  would  be  difficult  foe 
her  to  keep  some  of  them. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  in  satisfaction;  "he'll  find 
he  cannot  master  me!  He'll  find  he  cannot  force  me 
to  the  school  that  makes  cowards  and  weak  men." 

"But  he  is  no  coward,"  asserted  Felicia.  "You 
should  have  seen  him  fight  the  ruffian  who  was  carry 
ing  me  off  the  day  he  first  came  into  this  valley.  That 
man  was  a  giant,  and  he  was  strong  and  fierce;  but 
Frank  grappled  with  him,  grasped  his  wrist  when  he 
tried  to  use  his  knife,  threw  him,  and  knocked  him 
senseless.  Oh,  he  must  be  awfully  strong!" 

Again  Dick  was  green  with  jealousy. 

"Bah!"  he  cried.  "The  ruffian  must  have  been 
drunk.  Don't  tell  me  any  more  about  it!  In  a  fevw 
years  I  will  be  able  to  handle  him.  Now  we  will  go 
back  to  the  house,  and  you  must  be  careful  in  your 
actions  not  to  do  anything  that  will  make  any  one 
suspect  what  is  going  to  happen.  You  will  be  care 
ful?" 

"Yes,  Dick.    What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Act  just  as  you  always  do — not  differently.  Be 
happy." 

"I'll  try." 


196  Awakened  Jealousy. 

"Don't  speak  a  word  about  it  near  the  house.  Don't 
let  Old  Joe  know  that  I  have  told  you." 

She  promised,  and  they  started  for  the  cabin,  walk 
ing  hand  in  hand  through  the  woods.  They  came  to 
the  path  after  a  while,  along  which  they  made  their 
•way. 

Just  before  they  came  within  sight  of  the  cabin, 
•Felicia  suddenly  stopped  and  flung  her  arms  about 
Dick's  neck,  brokenly  exclaiming : 

"Oh,  Dick!  how  can  I  let  you  go  away  to-night- 
how  can  I  ?  I  shall  lay  .wake  and  think  about  it !  1 
shall  know  when  you  meet  Old  Joe  at  Black  Rock! 
I  shall  see  you  stealing  away  together!  I  shall  sec 
you  hurrying  into  the  mountains !" 

"Hush!"  he  said.  "You  must  not  speak  of  it  again 
till  I  am  gone.  We  are  too  near  the  house." 

"Kiss  me  good-by!"  she  half-sobbed. 

They  exchanged  kisses,  and  then  they  romped  away 
toward  the  cabin,  like  thoughtless  children.  And 
Dick's  laugh  rang  loudly  through  the  woods — the  wild, 
elfish  laughter  that  was  characteristic  of  him. 

Beside  the  cabin  Old  Joe  Crowfoot  smoked  in  grim 
silence. 

But  within  the  cabin  Frank  Memwell  was  no  longer 
writing.  His  chair  and  table  were  deserted»  and  lie 
nvas  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN"   INTERRUPTED   DEPARTURE. 

The  night  was  still  and  serene,  with  a  large  round! 
moon,  clear  as  burnished  silver,  shedding  its  light 
down  into  Pleasant  Valley.  Away  to  the  west  stood 
the  ragged  mountains,  with  the  stars  gleaming  bright 
above  their  snow-capped  peaks. 

In  the  Black  Woods  the  shadows  were  dense.  The 
moonlight  sifted  down  and  fell  on  the  front  of  the 
little  cabin,  but  the  rear  of  the  cabin  was  in  darkness. 
From  the  back  door  moved  a  form  that  made  no  noise, 
but  hastened  away  as  lightly  as  possible,  slipping  round 
into  the  path.  Before  plunging  into  the  woods,  the 
form  paused  and  turned  back  to  the  cabin,  toward 
which  a  kiss  was  tossed. 

"Good-by,  home!  good-by,  Felicia  I"  murmured 
Dick  Merriwell,  for  Dick  it  was.  "I  am  driven  out, 
but  I'll  come  back  when  he  is  gone.  I  am  free  as 
the  birds,  and  free  I  will  remain.  Good-by." 

Then  he  turned  his  back  on  the  cabin  and  hastened 
noiselessly  along  the  path. 

When  he  thought  how  amazed  Frank  would  be  in 
the  morning  he  felt  like  dancing  and  shouting  with 
delight. 


198  An  Interrupted  Departure. 

"Oh,  I'd  like  to  see  his  face!"  he  chuckled.  "It 
would  be  such  fun !  It  would  be  more  fun  than  it  was 
to  see  Billy  roll  his  eyes  round  at  the  old  pail." 

When  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  woods  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  step  out  into  the  moonlight,  for  now  there 
was  no  fear  in  his  heart  that  any  one  save  Old  Joe 
would  see  him. 

Straight  toward  Black  Rock,  at  a  little  distance 
ifrom  the  shore  of  the  lake,  he  hastened.  There  were 
some  trees  near  the  rock,  and  Dick  fancied  the  old* 
Indian  was  waiting  in  their  shadows. 

At  some  distance  from  the  rock  Dick  paused  and 
gave  the  hoot  of  the  horned  owl.  Immediately,  from 
a  point  near  the  rock,  the  howl  of  a  coyote  rose  and 
quavered  on  the  still  night  air. 

"Joe  is  there!"  laughed  the  boy.  "He  is  waiting, 
and  all  is  well." 

Then  he  ran  forward.  Near  the  rock  a  figure  rose 
|o  meet  him.  It  was  Crowfoot. 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  Indian.  "You  come.  Old 
[Joe  think  it  time." 

"I  waited  till  I  was  sure  everybody  was  asleep," 
said  Dick.  "Besides,  I  was  bound  to  let  him  know  he 
was  not  my  master  and  that  I  had  beaten  him." 

"What  you  do?" 

"I  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper,  'Good-by,  Frank  Mer- 
iriwell;  I  am  gone,  and  you'll  never  catch  me.  I  ran 


An  Interrupted  Departure.  199 

away  because  I  would  not  let  you  be  my  boss.  It 
won't  do  you  a  bit  of  good  to  try  to  find  me.'  Then 
I  signed  my  name  to  it.  And  I  slipped  into  his  room 
and  put  it  where  he  would  find  it  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"Waste  time,"  declared  the  Indian.  "Might  been 
catched." 

"He  was  sound  asleep  in  his  bed.  I  could  see  his 
form  under  the  clothes,  but  I  could  not  hear  him 
breathing.  I  got  out  just  as  quick  as  I  could." 

"Now  we  get  away,"  said  the  Indian.  "Get  good 
start  before  morning." 

He  had  a  rifle  in  his  hands,  while  his  old  blanket 
was  folded  and  fastened  on  his  shoulders,  so  that  he 
was  in  marching-trim. 

"I'm  ready,"  said  the  boy.     "I'll  follow  you,  Joe." 

"Come." 

The  Indian  started,  with  the  boy  at  his  heels,  but 
as  they  passed  round  the  rock  they  were  amazed  to 
see  standing  before  them  a  silent  figure  in  the  moon 
light — a  man,  with  his  arms  folded  over  his  breast. 

Dick  gave  a  little  cry,  while  Old  Joe  stopped,  half- 
lifting  his  rifle. 

"Good  evening,"  said  a  pleasant  voice.  "Isn't  it 
rather  late  for  a  moonlight  stroll  ?" 

Frank  Merriwell  stood  there  before  them ! 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  astounded  redskin. 


200  An  Interrupted  Departure. 

The  boy  was  amazed  and  bewildered,  for  he  had 
felt  certain  that  Merry  was  fast  asleep  in  bed  in  the 
cabin. 

"It's  a  lovely  night,  I  know,"  said  Merry,  in  his 
calm,  self-possessed  manner;  "but  a  boy  like  Dick 
should  be  in  bed.  Where  were  you  thinking  of  go 
ing?" 

"It's  none  of  your  business!"  cried  the  lad  cho 
kingly. 

"I  rather  think  it  is,"  was  the  serene  retort.  "If 
you  will  not  tell  me,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  tell  you. 
ff  know  all  about  it  You  were  thinking  of  going 
away,  Dick.  You  were  going  to  run  away  from  me." 

"I  am  going  to  now!" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"I  am!     I  will!     You  can't  stop  me!" 

"I  have  stopped  you  already.  You  will  go  no  far 
ther." 

"Boy  go  with  me,"  said  Old  Joe,  fingering  his  rifle. 
"Get  out  of  way!" 

"He  will  return  to  the  cabin  with  me,"  asserted 
Frank  confidently. 

"No  take  him  back!"  declared  Old  Joe.  "Get  out 
way,  or  shoot  um  quick !" 

"Don't  try  it,"  advised  Merry.  "I  am  his  brother, 
and  I  know  what  is  best  for  him." 


An  Interrupted  Departure.  201 

"He  different  from  you,"  said  the  redskin.  "He 
like  me  better.  He  going  to  be  like  red  man." 

"Hardly!"  exclaimed  Frank  dryly.  "I  have  no 
time  to  waste  words  with  you,  Crowfoot;  but  I  tell 
you  now,  for  the  first  and  last  time,  that  I  will  not 
have  you  monkeying  with  my  brother  or  trying  to 
thwart  me  in  my  plans.  If  you " 

The  old  Indian  was  enraged,  and  he  suddenly  flung 
his  rifle  up  to  shoot  Frank  straight  through  the  body, 
but,  with  a  sharp  cry,  the  boy  made  a  leap  and  knocked 
the  barrel  of  the  weapon  aside. 

Just  in  time !  The  rifle  spoke,  and  the  bullet  whistled 
close  to  Frank. 

"Thank  you,  Dick,"  said  Merriwell  coolly,  as  he 
swiftly  advanced.  "That  is  the  second  time  you  have 
kept  this  old  heathen  from  salting  me,  and  I'll  not 
forget  it." 

He  stopped  close  to  Old  Joe,  at  whom  he  looked 
fearlessly. 

"Crowfoot,"  he  said,  "you  have  twice  attempted 
my  life.  If  you  try  the  trick  again,  I'll  shoot  you 
down  like  a  dog!  I  don't  want  to  do  it,  but  I  do  not 
propose  to  have  you  make  a  target  of  me.  I  could 
have  shot  you  just  now.  See  here !" 

Then  Merry  displayed  a  revolver  which  he  had  held 
clasped  in  his  hand  all  the  while,  the  weapon  being- 


202  An  Interrupted  Departure. 

concealed  under  one  arm  as  his  hands  were  folded 
over  his  breast. 

"I  could  shoot  you  now,"  Frank  went  on;  "but  I 
do  not  wish  to  do  so.  You  have  filled  this  boy's  head 
with  false  notions,  but  I  am  going  to  drive  those  no 
tions  out  of  his  head.  You  have  taught  him  some 
things  of  value,  but  even  you  were  not  shrewd  enough 
to  discover  me  as  I  lay  in  the  little  hollow  there  and 
waited  for  this  meeting.  I  was  here  ahead  of  you,  and 
I  concealed  myself,  as  I  was  taught  to  do  by  one  of 
your  own  race.  In  my  bed  I  left  a  dummy  figure, 
which  deceived  Dick,  and " 

"How  did  you  know  anything  about  it  ?"  panted  the 
boy,  in  wonder.  "Did  Felicia  tell  you?" 

"Not  a  word/* 

"Then  how  did  you  know?" 

"Perhaps  the  birds  told  me,"  said  Frank,  in  a  mys 
terious  way. 

Dick  started. 

"The  birds?"  he  said,  thinking  how  he  had  called! 
the  feathered  creatures  of  the  woods  about  him  jus€ 
before  he  revealed  his  secret  to  Felicia. 

Then  a  strange  thought  came  to  the  lad.  Had  the 
birds  listened  as  he  told  the  little  girl  of  his  plans, 
and  had  Frank  somehow  obtained  the  knowledge  from 
them?  The  fact  that  Merry  had  learned  of  those 
plans  somehow,  and  had  appeared  to  intercept  the  boy] 


An  Interrupted  Departure.  205 

in  his  flight,  seemed  singular  indeed;  but  the  possi 
bility  that  he  had  obtained  his  knowledge  in  some 
marvelously  mysterious  manner  from  the  birds  was 
bewildering. 

A  feeling  of  awe  came  upon  Dick.  He  was  struck 
by  the  conviction  that  it  was  impossible  to  keep  any 
thing  from  his  wonderful  brother. 

Old  Joe  was  not  so  much  impressed,  although  he 
was  not  a  little  chagrined  over  his  failure  to  discover 
Frank  waiting  in  the  vicinity  of  the  rock. 

"Come,  Dick,"  said  Merry  quietly;  "we  will  go 
back  to  the  cabin.  To-morrow  we'll  talk  over  your 
plan  to  run  away  with  Crowfoot,  and,  if  you  can  con 
vince  me  that  it  is  for  your  good,  I'll  let  you  go  with 
him.  I  am  going  to  do  just  what  is  for  your  good." 

This  did  not  satisfy  the  boy  by  any  means,  but  he 
was  overawed  and  subdued  by  the  powerful  will  oS 
his  brother,  and  he  offered  no  further  resistance. 

Old  Joe  was  disgusted  and  indignant. 

"You  go  with  him  ?"  he  asked  of  Dick. 

The  boy  nodded. 

"It's  no.  use  now,  Joe,"  he  said,  with  resignation. 
"He  knows  all  about  it.  It  wouldn't  do  me  any  good 
to  run  away  now.  I'm  going  back." 

The  old  Indian  grunted. 

"Go!"  he  cried.  "Old  Joe,  him  go  to  the  moun 
tains." 


2O4  An  Interrupted  Departure. 

Then,  to  the  surprise  of  both  the  boy  and  tfie  In 
dian,  Merry  turned  to  Old  Joe,  saying: 

"Crowfoot,  come  back  to  the  cabin.  I  want  you 
to  stay  and  teach  Dick  all  that  you  can." 

The  Indian  seemed  incredulous. 

"You  fool  Old  Joe,"  he  declared. 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  fooling,"  Merry  asserted. 
"I  speak  the  truth;  I  want  you  to  teach  him  as  much 
as  you  can.  I  believe  that  no  man  acquires  useless 
knowledge.  It  may  seem  that  he  does,  but,  some  time 
during  his  life,  he  is  certain  to  find  need  of  it.  It 
always  has  been  my  policy  to  keep  my  eyes  and  ears 
open  and  learn  all  that  I  could.  I  know  something 
of  Indian  lore,  for  I  am  not  quite  the  tenderfoot  I 
look,  and  one  of  my  friends  was  a  young  Indian  by  the 
name  of  John  Swiftwing." 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Crowfoot.  "Him  go  to  Injun 
school,  marry  half-blood  squaw?" 

"Yes." 

"Old  Joe  know  urn." 

"You  know  him?" 

"Him  live  in  mountains,  not  hundred  mile  from 
here." 

"Crowfoot,  are  you  telling  me  the  truth?" 
The  Indian  relapsed  into  indignant  silence. 
"You  did  not  tell  me  the  truth  the  first  time  I  saw 


An  Interrupted  Departure.  205 

you,"  said  Frank.     "Why  should  I  not  ask  the  ques 
tion?" 

"No  know  um  then." 

"And,  now  that  you  know  me,  you  are  ready  to 
shoot  me  in  a  moment.  Still,  I  want  you  to  come 
back  to  the  cabin.  Dick  need  not  fear  that  I  am  going 
to  take  him  away  to  school  right  off.  I  have  no 
thought  of  doing  so  now,  and  he'll  not  have  to  go  until 
he  is  perfectly  willing.  If  you,  Crowfoot,  know  where 
Swiftwing  is  to  be  found,  I  want  you  to  take  me  to 
him.  I  shall  be  glad  to  pay  you  in  any  possible  way 
for  your  trouble." 

The  Indian  stood  still  and  looked  at  the  boy.  Frank 
also  looked  at  Dick,  who  immediately  said : 

"I  am  going  back  to  the  cabin,  Joe.  Won't  you 
come  ?" 

But  the  old  fellow  seemed  offended. 

"No,"  he  said;  "not  now." 

Dick  knew  it  was  useless  to  try  to  persuade  Old  Joe, 
and  so  he  did  not  make  the  attempt. 

"Mebbe  come  in  one,  two  day,"  said  Crowfoot. 
"Mebbe  not  come  at  all." 

Then,  without  even  bidding  Dick  good-by,  the 
strange  old  redskin  turned  and  strode  away,  soon  pass 
ing  from  the  moonlight  into  the  shadow  of  the  deep 
woods,  which  hid  him  from  view. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

READY   ARRIVES. 

Not  a  word  did  Frank  say  about  Dick's  attempt 
to  run  away,  and,  as  they  had  returned  to  and  en 
tered  the  cabin  quietly,  Juan  Delores  knew  nothing 
of  it. 

Of  course,  Felicia  was  amazed  and  overjoyed  when, 
the  following  morning,  she  found  Dick  still  there. 
Dick  would  say  nothing  save  that  he  had  decided  not 
to  go  away  for  a  while. 

Old  Joe  was  gone,  but  as  the  Indian  had  a  habit 
of  disappearing  and  appearing  without  warning,  noth 
ing  was  thought  of  this. 

In  spite  of  himself,  deep  down  in  his  heart  Dick 
Merriwell  felt  further  respect  for  his  brother.  He 
was  compelled  to  confess  to  himself  that  Frank  was 
very  clever,  and  he  came  to  stand  in  some  awe  of  him. 
Still,  he  persisted  in  his  determination  not  to  let  Merry 
"boss"  him. 

"I'll  always  be  free,"  he  muttered  over  and  over. 
"I'll  never  go  into  a  school.  He  can't  make  me  do 
that." 

But  he  wondered  greatly  how  Frank  had  discovered 
that  he  was  going  away  at  all.  He  did  not  know  that) 


Ready  Arrives.  207 

Merry  had  left  the  cabin  by  the  back  door,  while  Old 
Joe  smoked  by  the  wall,  and  strayed  into  the  woods. 
He  did  not  know  that  Merry  had  paused  by  the  path 
and  knelt  to  examine  a  wild  flower  he  found  growing 
there.  And,  while  Frank  was  kneeling  thus,  Dick  and 
Felicia  came  along  the  path.  From  the  little  portion 
of  their  talk,  that  Merriwell  heard  as  they  bade  each 
other  good-by,  he  learned  that  Dick  was  going  away 
with  Old  Joe,  whom  he  would  meet  that  night  near 
Black  Rock. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  Frank  was  on  hand  at 
that  meeting. 

Merry  was  satisfied  that  his  strange,  wild,  young 
brother  cared  for  him  more  than  he  wished  any  one 
to  know,  else  he  would  not  have  made  such  frantic 
haste  to  disconcert  Old  Joe's  aim.  Had  the  Indian 
shot  Merry  down,  Dick  would  have  been  free  forever, 
yet  the  boy  sprang  at  once  to  prevent  that  act. 

Frank  wished  to  win  his  brother  to  him  without 
using  force.  It  was  his  desire  to  bend  Dick's  strong 
will  and  passionate  nature,  but  not  to  break  either. 
The  young  athlete  was  convinced  that  there  was  in 
Dick  the  making  of  a  remarkable  lad,  and  he  hoped 
to  handle  him  in  the  proper  manner  to  bring  out  his 
best  qualities. 

But  first  it  was  necessary  to  win  the  obstinate  and 
\vilful  spirit  to  him,  and  that  seemed  like  a  difficult 


208  Ready  Arrives. 

task  indeed.  However,  Merry  felt  that  he  had  scored 
heavily  in  preventing  the  runaway  as  he  did.  He  had 
not  resorted  to  force,  but  he  had  convinced  Dick  that 
he  was  in  some  things  a  match  for  Old  Joe,  whom  the 
lad  admired. 

On  the  day  after  the  attempted  runaway,  Bart 
Hodge  and  Jack  Ready  came  riding  up  the  valley. 
Business  had  called  Ready  to  Denver,  and  Hodge  had 
met  him  there.  His  business  attended  to,  Jack  was 
willing  and  eager  to  hasten  to  Frank  in  the  quiet  little 
valley  under  the  shadow  of  the  Rockies. 

Frank  was  watching  for  them,  and  he  sighted  them 
through  a  field-glass  as  they  came  galloping  up  the 
valley. 

Dick  and  Felicia  were  also  watching,  with  strange, 
silent  Juan  Delores  not  far  away. 

"It's  another  of  his  friends,"  said  Diclc,  in  a  low 
tone  to  Felicia.  "I'm  sure  this  one  will  show  signs 
of  his  long  days  spent  in  study.  He  must  be  round- 
shouldered  and  weak." 

As  the  two  riders  drew  nearer  they  spurred  on  their 
horses  and  raced  for  the  woods.  It  was  a  wild  neck- 
and-neck  dash,  and,  although  Bart  seemed  to  sit  his 
horse  a  trifle  better  than  Jack,  the  latter  managed  to  be 
in  at  the  finish. 

"Hooray!"  he  whooped,  waving  his  hat  about  his 


Ready  Arrives.  209 

head  and  hinging  himself  from  the  saddle.  "The  par 
don  has  arrived  in  time!  Your  royal  muchness,  here 
we  are,  hide,  hoof  and  horns.  Behold  us,  adorned  in 
all  the  glory  of  the  wild  Western  cowboy.  Are  we 
not  peaches?" 

Then  he  grasped  Frank's  hand,  gave  it  a  furious 
shake,  and  bent  to  press  his  lips  upon  it. 

"I  salute  ye,  oh,  mighty  potentate,  whatever  that  is," 
said  Jack,  in  his  familiar  breezy  manner.  "I  know  you 
are  overjoyed  to  gaze  once  more  on  my  beautiful 
countenance,  and  I  am  very,  very  glad  because  you 
are  so  happy." 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  be  round-shouldered,"  whis 
pered  Felicia. 

"Not — very — much,"  faltered  Dick. 

"And  he  doesn't  look  weak." 

"Not — very — weak,"  admitted  the  boy. 

"He  doesn't  wear  glasses." 

"He  may  have  them  in  his  pocket  and  put  them  on 
when  he  reads,"  said  the  lad,  as  if  he  really  hoped  so. 

"And  he  can  ride  well." 

"Pretty  well,"  confessed  Dick.  "But  he's  just  like 
the  other  one,  in  one  thing;  he  acknowledged  my 
brother  as  his  superior." 

"I  didn't  notice  it." 

"I  did.     It  was  in  his  manner." 

"Why,  I  thought  his  manner  very  lofty  and  proud." 


210  Ready  Arrives. 

"But,  just  the  same,  there  was  something  in  it  that 
confessed  Frank  Merriwell  his  master.  I  wonder  if 
all  my  brother's  friends  are  like  that." 

The  boy's  sharp  eyes  had  read  the  truth,  and  his 
sensation  was  one  of  mingled  regret  and  pride,  for, 
despite  himself,  he  could  not  help  being  proud  that 
Frank  was  a  leader  of  men. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jack,"  said  Merriwell,  in  his 
hearty  way,  that  left  no  doubt  as  to  his  sincerity. 

"I  told  you  that  you  were,"  nodded  Ready,  with  a 
haughty  pose.  "And  I  have  traveled  far  to  make  you 
glad." 

"Wish  you  had  brought  all  the  fellows  along  with 
you." 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Ready,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
"Methinks  I  have  a  thought.  Why  not  gather  the 
clans  together  and  once  more  swoop  down  on  the  wild 
and  woolly?  We  wiped  up  everything  on  the  turf 
last  year;  why  not  do  a  little  wiping  this  year?" 

"You  mean " 

"Why  not  call  the  boys  together,  organize  a  base 
ball-team,  and  indulge  in  the  lively  sport  of  killing  um 
pires?  What  sayest  thou?  Is  it  not  a  radiant 
thought?" 

"I  have  thought  of  it  myself." 

"What?"  cried  Jack,  in  dismay.    "Wouldst  even 


Ready  Arrives.  211 

rob  me  of  the  only  original  thought  I  ever  possessed  ? 
Alas!" 

"He  is  very  queer,"  said  Felicia  to  Dick. 

"Very !"  said  Dick,  frowning.  "I  saw  a  crazy  man 
once  that  acted  like  him." 

Which  Jack  would  not  have  regarded  as  very  com 
plimentary  had  he  heard  it. 

Merry  introduced  Ready  to  Juan  Delores,  and  then 
said: 

"Ready,  this  is  my  little  cousin  Felicia,  and  this  is 
my  brother  Dick." 

"Queen  Felicia,  I  salute  you,"  said  Jack,  bowing 
low,  his  hat  in  his  left  hand  and  his  right  hand  pressed 
over  his  heart.  "Before  I  came,  you  must  have  been 
the  sweetest  thing  in  all  this  wild  region.  Of  course 
I  can't  help  being  sweet  myself,  for  I  was  born  that 
way,  and  you  must  not  blame  me  if  all  the  flies  flock 
my  way." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  Dick. 

"So  you  are  Frank  Merriwell's  brother!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Well,  my  boy,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  there 
are  a  few  million  chaps  like  you  who  would  just  about 
give  their  blooming  lives  to  be  able  to  honestly  call 
Frank  Merriwell  brother.  They'd  rather  have  him  for 
a  brother  than  to  have  the  President  of  the  United 
States  for  a  father.  You  are  a  dead  lucky  chap,  and 
that's  straight  goods." 


212  Ready  Arrives. 

The  lips  of  the  boy  were  pressed  together  for  a 
moment,  and  then  he  retorted : 

"Well,  sir,  I  wish  it  was  some  one  of  those  few 
million  boys  who  want  him  for  a  brother  who  had 
him  instead  of  me !" 

"What's  this?"  cried  Jack,  aghast.  "Treason!  Who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  Boy,  you're  crazy !" 

But  Dick  stood  up  defiantly,  his  proud  lips  curling 
with  scorn. 

"A  regular  heart-blow!"  muttered  Ready  weakly. 
"Is  this  a  sample  of  the  brothers  you  pick  up,  Merry  3 
Oh,  my,  my !  And  you  the  idol  of  Yale !" 

Frank  laughed. 

"I  enjoy  it,  Ready,"  he  said,  and  his  manner  seemed 
to  indicate  that  he  told  the  truth.  "I  don't  think  I  ever 
had  anything  satisfy  me  more  than  has  this  rebellious 
disposition  of  my  high-spirited  young  brother  here." 

This  made  Dick  tremble  with  anger. 

"I'm  not  doing  it  to  please  you!"  he  cried.  "I 
won't  please  you !" 

But  Merry  simply  smiled. 

"You  can't  help  it,  Dick,"  he  asserted.  "In  disliking 
me  so  ardently  you  have  provided  me  with  a  new  sen 
sation.  I  assure  you  that  it  has  given  me  pleasure  to 
watch  and  study  you." 

"I  won't  be  watched  and  studied!"  cried  the  lad 
"I'll  keep  away  from  you!  Oh,  how  I  hate  you!" 


Ready  Arrives. 

THen  he  turned  and  fled  from  the  spot. 

Dick  felt  humiliated  and  ashamed,  for  it  seemed 
that  Frank  had  laughed  at  him  before  his  friends. 
Ridicule  to  a  boy  of  his  passionate  disposition  was  a 
dreadful  thing,  which  cut  deeper  than  the  keenest 
blade. 

Jack  Ready  regarded  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke, 
and  he  sought  to  banter  Merry  about  his  peppery  young 
brother. 

"A  regular  untamed  young  colt,"  he  observed. 
"Never  saw  anything  just  like  him.  He's  a  bird, 
Merriwell.  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  hard  work  break 
ing  him  to  the  saddle." 

Hodge  had  brought  some  baseballs,  two  bats,  and  a 
catcher's  mitt  from  Denver,  and  the  following  day 
the  three  young  men  got  out  in  a  clear  place  in  the 
valley  and  began  to  practise. 

Felicia  saw  them  first,  and  she  ran  to  Dick  with 
an  account  of  what  they  were  doing. 

"Why,  they  throw  the  ball  at  each  other  just  as 
hard  as  they  can,"  she  said,  "and  they  catch  it  in 
their  hands,  just  as  easy.  It's  fun  to  watch  them. 
Come  and  see  them,  Dick." 

"No,"  said  Dick. 

"And  they  have  got  a  stick  that  they  hit  it  with," 
she  went  on.  "One  of  them  takes  the  ball,  gives  it 


214  Ready  Arrives. 

a  little  toss,  then  strikes  it  with  the  stick  and  knocks 
it  so  high  in  the  air  that  you  can  hardly  see  it." 

"I'll  bet  they  don't  catch  it  then,"  said  Dick. 

"But  they  do,"  asserted  the  girl.  "Then  others  run 
and  get  under  it,  and  catch  it  with  their  bare  hands." 

"It  must  be  soft,"  said  the  boy. 

His  curiosity  was  aroused,  and,  after  a  time,  he 
permitted  Felicia  to  lure  him  down  to  the  open  valley, 
where  they  could  watch  Frank,  Bart,  and  Jack  prac 
tising. 

In  short  order  Dick  became  intensely  interested,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  be  ventured  out  where  the  trio 
were,  Felicia  following  now. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  rather  surprising  that  the  ball 
could  be  batted  so  far  into  the  air  and  caught  with 
such  ease,  even  though  the  one  who  caught  it  some 
times  had  to  run  with  all  his  might  to  get  under  it 
when  it  came  down. 

"Could  you  do  that,  Dick?"  asked  Felicia. 

"Of  course  I  could!"  he  answered,  for  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  think  there  was  any  such  accomplishment 
possessed  by  these  tenderfoots  that  he  did  not  also 
have. 

Now,  it  happened  that  Jack  Ready  heard  the  ques 
tion  and  the  answer. 

"What,  ho !"  he  cried.    "Here  is  another  player  "for 


Ready  Arrives.  215 

our  ball-team.  Stand  forth,  Richard,  and  show  your 
skill." 

"No,"  said  Dick,  shaking  his  head. 

"Ah,  ha !"  exclaimed  Jack.  "Methinks  thou  art  fear 
ful  as  to  the  result.  In  other  words,  you're  putting  up 
a  bluff." 

This  was  too  much,  so  Dick  walked  out  to  catch 
the  ball.  Jack  himself  seized  the  bat,  observing: 

"I'll  place  the  sphere  in  your  fingers,  Richard,  my 
son.  Let  us  see  if  you  can  freeze  to  it." 

Then  he  knocked  a  comparatively  easy  one.  Dick 
got  under  it,  but,  when  the  ball  struck  his  hands,  it 
immediately  bounced  out  and  dropped  to  the  ground. 

And  it  hurt  his  hands  in  a  most  surprising  manner, 
for  he  found  it  almost  as  hard  as  a  stone. 

Dick  did  not  betray  that  he  was  hurt. 

"You  must  squeeze  it,  young  man,"  chirped  Ready. 
"That  is  one  of  the  first  things  to  learn.  When  a  ball 
strikes  in  your  hands,  close  your  fingers  on  it  and 
squeeze  it  hard." 

Angry  and  disgusted,  Dick  caught  up  the  ball  and 
threw  it  straight  at  Ready  with  all  his  strength. 

Now,  the  boy  could  throw  a  round  stone  with  re 
markable  accuracy,  as  well  as  great  speed,  and  he 
had  used  all  his  strength  in  this  case.  Imagine  his 
surprise  when  Ready  carelessly  thrust  out  one  hand 


216  Ready  Arrives. 

and  caught  the  whizzing  ball  as  if  the  feat  was  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world. 

Dick  looked  at  Frank.  If  Merriwell  had  laughed 
then,  it  is  possible  the  boy  would  have  stopped  in  a 
perfect  tempest  of  anger;  but  Frank  stood  aside,  look 
ing  quite  grave  and  interested. 

"I  will  catch  it!"  thought  the  lad.  "I'll  show  him 
that  I  can  catch  it!" 

Then  he  cried  for  Jack  to  hit  out  another  one. 

"Well,  that's  the  stuff  from  which  heroes  and  ball 
players  are  made,"  said  Ready,  as  he  complied. 

This  time  Jack  did  not  bat  the  ball  directly  into 
Dick's  hands,  and  the  latter  was  forced  to  run  after 
it  a  little.  Again  he  got  his  hands  on  it,  and  this 
time  he  managed  to  catch  it. 

"Good !"  cried  Frank  approvingly.  "That  was  well 
done!" 

To  the  amazement  of  Dick  himself,  he  thrilled  with 
satisfaction  on  hearing  those  words  of  praise  from 
Frank.  But  he  would  not  try  to  catch  any  more  then. 

"That's  right,"  laughed  Ready.  "You  have  a  level 
head,  for  you  know  when  to  retire  on  your  laurels. 
I  wish  I  knew  as  much.  I  would  have  retired  long 
ago." 

Then  Bart  Hodge  put  on  the  big  mitt,  while  Ready 
stood  up  to  strike  the  ball.  A  flat  stone  was  the  plate, 


Ready  Arrives.  217 

and  from  it  Frank  paced  off  the  regular  pitching-dis- 
tance. 

Then,  with  great  speed,  Frank  pitched  the  ball. 
Ready  fanned,  and  Bart  caught  it,  close  under  the  bat. 

Dick  Merriwell  caught  his  breath,  and  watched  with 
still  greater  interest 

"Fooled  me  that  time,"  said  Jack.  "Put  'em  over 
now,  and  I'll  drive  out  a  three-bagger." 

"What  is  a  three-bagger,  Dick  ?"  asked  Felicia,  who 
had  found  his  side  again. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  was  forced  to  admit. 

"You  did  catch  the  ball,  didn't  you?"  she  said 
proudly. 

"Yes,"  was  all  he  answered. 

"But  it  wasn't  near  so  high  as  they  knocked  it  be- 
lore." 

Dick  shrugged  his  shoulders,  declaring: 

"If  I  had  some  practise,  I  could  catch  it  just  as 
high  as  anybody." 

"But  it  must  be  dangerous.  You  won't  do  it,  will 
you,  Dick?" 

Now,  danger  was  the  very  thing  that  served  as  a 
lure  to  lead  the  boy  on,  and  he  retorted : 

"Oh,  I'm  going  to  try  it  some  more.    I  like  it." 

Frank  sent  in  another  swift  one,  and  again  Jack 
failed  to  hit  it,  though  he  struck  at  it  handsomely. 

"The  double-shoot!"  he  shouted.    "Oh,  Laura!  but 


218  Ready  Arrives. 

that  was  a  peach!  It  twisted  both  ways  as  quick  as  a 
flash." 

"What  is  he  talking  about?"  muttered  Dick.  "I 
didn't  see  it  twist." 

He  moved  around  to  get  another  position,  and 
chance  happened  to  lead  him  behind  Bart,  at  some 
distance. 

Then,  when  Frank  pitched  again,  Dick  saw  the  ball 
come  whistling  straight  ahead,  and  suddenly  dart  off 
to  one  side,  while  Ready  missed  it  a  third  time. 

"Nothing  but  an  out !"  said  Jack,  in  disgust.  "And 
I  thought  it  was  going  to  be  another  double." 

"No  wonder  he  can't  hit  it,"  thought  Dick.  "Why, 
the  ball  didn't  go  straight!  I  wonder  what  made  it 
go  off  to  one  side  like  that." 

The  next  one,  however,  amazed  him  more  than  any 
thing  else  he  had  seen,  for  it  seemed  to  start  curving 
one  way,  and  then  suddenly  change  and  curve  the 
other. 

"Another  double-shoot!"  exploded  Ready,  in  dis 
gust.  "Say,  stop  it,  will  you!  You're  the  only  pitcher 
in  the  country  who  can  throw  the  ball,  so  I  don't  care 
to  practise  batting  against  it  Give  me  just  the  plain, 
ordinary  curves." 

"All  right,"  laughed  Frank.  "I  was  trying  it  sim 
ply  to  see  if  I  had  good  control  and  command  of  it 
•Next  one  will  be  of  the  ordinary  kind." 


Ready  Arrives.  219 

It  was  an  in  shoot,  but  Jack  hit  it  a  good  crack,  and 
joyously  cried: 

"Safe  hit !  Oh,  me !  oh,  my !  Wasn't  that  clever  of 
me?" 

"You'd  never  got  a  hit  like  that  off  him  in  a  game, 
and  you  know  it,"  said  Hodge,  while  Merry  was  after 
the  ball.  "He's  the  greatest  pitcher  who  ever  came 
out  of  a  college  in  this  country." 

"Admitted,  my  boy,"  nodded  Jack.  "And  he  has 
a  reputation  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.  He's  a 
wonder,  and  everybody  knows  it." 

Again  Dick  Merriwell  felt  a  strange  thrill  of  satis 
faction  and  pride,  and  to  himself  he  unconsciously 
whispered : 

"He's  my  brother  I" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WINNING     HIS     WAY. 

What  he  had  seen  and  heard  that  day  wrought  a 
change  in  Dick  Merriwell.  Although  he  had  never 
witnessed  a  game  of  baseball,  he  began  to  feel  an 
intense  longing  to  see  one.  He  pictured  it  in  his  mind, 
and  the  picture  was  far  from  correct,  but  it  served  to 
add  to  his  growing  desire. 

He  heard  Frank  say  that  he  had  written  to  several 
of  his  friends,  and  the  trio  of  young  athletes  began 
to  discuss  the  possibility  of  getting  enough  of  the  old 
crowd  together  to  form  a  ball-team.  They  spoke  of 
the  excitement  of  the  games  and  the  sport  they  could 
have,  and  Dick  Merriwell's  interest  increased  steadily 
as  he  listened. 

"I'd  give  anything  to  see  one  of  those  games !"  he 
told  himself. 

When  the  three  went  out  to  practise  Dick  accom 
panied  them,  and,  after  that  first  day,  he  did  not  hesi 
tate  to  try  to  catch  the  batted  balls.  To  him  it  seemed 
that  these  efforts  were  rather  discouraging,  for  he 
often  muffed  or  misjudged  them;  but  he  did  not  know 
that  both  Ready  and  Hodge  had  told  Merry  that  the 
way  in  which  he  handled  himself  and  clung  to  the  ball 


Winning  His  Way.  221 

was  astonishing  for  a  chap  of  his  years  who  had  never 
seen  a  ball  before. 

Inwardly  Frank  was  well  pleased  about  the  inter 
est  Dick  was  taking,  but  he  did  not  betray  his  feelings, 
nor  did  he  praise  the  boy.  Instead  of  praising,  he 
sometimes  criticized.  However,  he  did  not  permit  his 
criticism  to  savor  of  ridicule. 

Merry  well  knew  that  some  natures  can  be  much 
better  spurred  on  by  criticism  than  by  praise,  and  it 
is  often  the  case  that  praise  seems  positively  harm 
ful  to  a  growing  boy  or  a  developing  youth.  He  had 
seen  many  good  ball-players  spoiled  by  praise,  while" 
few  had  been  harmed,  to  his  knowledge,  by  criticism. 

Occasionally  a  lad  may  be  able  to  stand  praise,  which 
may  serve  to  spur  him  on ;  and,  once  in  a  while,  severe 
criticism  is  absolutely  harmful.  Once  in  a  while  a 
boy  may  be  ridiculed  into  doing  his  best,  but  always 
ridicule  is  a  last  resort,  for  it  generally  does  more 
harm  than  good. 

Frank  knew  that  a  proud  and  sensitive  lad  like  Dick 
could  not  stand  ridicule,  although  what  seemed  like 
honest  criticism  would  arouse  his  nature  and  lead  him 
to  persistent  effort.  So  Merry  avoided  any  show  of 
ridicule  when  he  spoke  freely  of  Dick's  failings. 

Ready  would  have  praised  the  lad  openly,  but  Merri- 
well  took  care  to  warn  Jack  against  doing  so.  Hodge 
did  not  need  such  a  warning,  as  he  was  not  in  the 


222  Winning  His  Way. 

habit  of  praising  anybody,  with  the  single  exception 
of  Frank. 

Merry's  critical  words  cut  Dick  deeply,  seeming 
to  arouse  a  tempest  of  anger  within  him. 

"He  thinks  I'm  not  as  smart  as  the  boys  who  go 
to  schools !"  the  indignant  lad  told  Felicia  one  day. 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  know — I  can  tell !  He  doesn't  think  me  very 
smart.  He  doesn't  think  I  could  ever  play  ball  if  I 
tried,  but  I'd  like  to  show  him!" 

Now  this  was  the  very  feeling  that  Frank  had  sought 
to  awaken  in  his  spirited  brother,  for  he  knew  it  would 
serve  to  spur  the  boy  on. 

Sometimes  Frank,  Bart,  and  Jack  talked  of  old 
times  and  the  excitement  of  the  baseball-games  in 
which  they  had  participated,  and  then,  if  he  fancied 
himself  unobserved,  Dick  would  linger  near  and  listen, 
though  he  pretended  to  take  no  interest  whatever  in 
what  they  were  saying. 

More  and  more  the  desire  grew  within  him  to  wit 
ness  a  regular  ball-game.  He  was  a  boy  who  loved 
excitement,  and  he  pictured  the  dashing,  desperate 
struggle  of  two  baseball-nines,  with  the  cheering  spec 
tators  to  urge  them  on. 

One  day  Frank  left  the  valley,  with  Dick  for  a  com 
panion,  and  rode  to  Urmiston.  They  were  mounted  on 


Winning  His  Way.  223 

two  spirited  horses,  and  the  lad  took  delight  in  giving 
Merry  a  hard  race  to  the  little  town,  but  found  that 
the  "tenderfoot"  was  pretty  nearly  a  perfect  horseman. 

At  Urmiston,  Merriwell  received  two  letters  which 
seemed  to  give  him  considerable  satisfaction,  but,  after 
reading  them,  he  thrust  them  both  into  his  pocket,  say 
ing  nothing  at  that  time  of  their  contents.  On  the 
way  back  to  Pleasant  Valley,  however,  Merry  sud 
denly  observed : 

"Well,  Dick,  I  am  going  away  soon." 

"Are  you  ?"  said  the  boy.    "That  is  good !" 

"I  thought  you  would  be  glad  of  it.  A  number  of 
my  friends  are  coming  from  the  East,  and  we  are 
going  to  organize  a  baseball-team.  We'll  play  such 
clubs  as  we  can  get  games  with,  and  so  pass  the  sum 
mer." 

Dick  said  nothing. 

"We'll  have  lots  of  sport  this  summer,"  Merry 
went  on.  "It's  too  bad  you  can't  see  some  of  the 
games.  But,  then,  I  don't  suppose  you  care  anything 
about  them?" 

The  heart  of  the  boy  gave  a  strange  throb.  Then 
Frank  had  decided  to  go  away  and  leave  him  behind! 

"Why  won't  I  see  any  of  them?"  he  asked.  "You 
are  going  to  make  me  go  with  you,  aren't  you?" 

"No,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"But — you — said "      Then    Dick    choked   and 


224  Winning  His  Way. 

stopped,  his  mixed  emotions  getting  the  mastery  of 
him. 

"I  might  have  taken  you  with  us  if  I  had  not  found 
that  you  were  so  set  against  it,"  Frank  said.  "Bu* 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  will  be  better 
to  leave  you  behind.  Then  I  shall  not  be  bothered 
with  you." 

The  face  of  the  lad  flushed  with  angry  indignation, 
and  his  dark  eyes  flashed. 

"Oh,  that  is  it!"  he  cried  scornfully.  "You  pre 
tended  at  first  that  you  were  so  greatly  interested  in 
me  that  you  were  ready  to  do  anything  for  me,  but 
now  I  know  that  it  was  all  pretense,  and  that  you 
simply  wanted  to  make  me  uncomfortable.  Father 
said  that  you  were  to  take  care  of  me  and  see  that  I 
received  proper  training,  but,  just  as  soon  as  you  think 
1  may  be  a  little  bother  to  you,  you  are  ready  to  drop 
me.  That  shows  what  kind  of  a  brother  you  are! 
I'm  glad  I've  found  out !  I  wouldn't  go  with  you  now 
if  you  wanted  me  to!  You  couldn't  make  me  go  with 
you!" 

"It's  true,"  said  Frank  quietly,  "that  father  wanted 
me  to  take  care  of  you,  but  it  may  be  that  he  did  not 
know  the  kind  of  a  task  he  was  imposing  on  me.  If 
you  were  the  right  kind  of  a  boy,  I'd  do  everything  in 
my  power  to  your  advantage,  no  matter  how  much 
trouble  it  cost  me ;  but  it  is  evident  that  you  prefer  to 


Winning  His  Way.  225 

run  wild  and  come  up  in  any  old  way.  You  choose 
your  ignorance  in  preference  to  all  the  advantages 
I  could  give  you.  I  fear  I  could  not  make  much  of  a 
man  of  you,  anyhow,  so  why  should  I  try  ?" 

The  lad  trembled  from  his  head  to  his  feet  with  the 
intensity  of  his  rage.  Then,  all  at  once,  he  savagely 
cried : 

"You  can't  throw  me  over  that  way!  I  won't  let 
you!  You're  getting  tired  of  me,  but  I'll  make  you 
do  just  what  father  said  you  were  to  do !  You  shall 
not  go  away  and  leave  me  here!  I'll  go  with  you! 
I  will!  I  will!  I  will!" 

"Don't  get  so  excited  about  it,"  advised  Frank. 
"That's  where  you  show  a  weak  spot.  If  you  ever  be 
come  a  successful  man  in  this  world,  you  must  learn 
to  govern  your  temper.  You  let  yourself " 

But  Dick  refused  to  listen  longer,  and,  fiercely  cut 
ting  his  horse  with  his  quirt,  he  went  dashing  madty 
toward  the  distant  valley,  Frank  following  behind. 

There  was  a  satisfied  smile  on  Merriwell's  face,  for 
he  felt  that  he  was  winning  in  his  struggle  with  the 
obstinate  spirit  of  the  boy.  But  he  took  care  not  to 
let  Dick  see  that  smile. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  cabin  home  of  Juan  De- 
lores,  Old  Joe  Crowfoot  was  there,  sitting  with  his 
back  against  the  wall,  grimly  smoking  his  pipe. 

He^iid  not  even  look  up  as  they  approached. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FROM    THE   JAWS   OF   DEATH. 

The  following  day,  guided  by  Old  Joe,  a  party  set 
out  on  a  journey  to  the  mountains,  in  a  secluded  valley 
of  which,  the  old  Indian  declared,  John  Swiftwing 
lived  with  his  half-blood  wife.  The  party  was  made 
up  of  Frank,  Bart,  Jack,  Dick,  and  the  old  redskin. 

They  did  not  start  till  past  midday,  and  it  was  their 
plan  to  camp  out  for  at  least  one  night.  All  were  well 
mounted  and  armed  and  prepared  for  roughing  it 

Dick  had  dressed  himself  in  the  half-Mexican  finery 
he  was  wearing  the  first  time  Frank  saw  him.  Those 
were  the  clothes  in  which  Juan  Delores  delighted  to 
see  the  lad  attired. 

Dick  bade  Felicia  an  affectionate  adieu,  promising 
to  return  within  two  days.  At  first  she  had  feared 
he  was  going  away  for  good,  and  the  thought  had 
nearly  broken  her  heart;  but  she  was  relieved  when 
Frank  gave  her  his  word  that  they  would  return. 

That  night  they  camped  by  a  stream  that  came  down 
from  the  mountains  and  flowed  out  through  a  broad 
valley,  in  which  a  great  herd  of  cattle  was  grazing. 

Old  Joe  had  discovered  "antelope  sign"  some  hours 
before,  and  he  set  out  to  shoot  one  of  the  creatures. 


From  the  Jaws  of  Death.  227 

But  Merriwell  took  a  fancy  to  see  what  he  could  do, 
and,  by  skirting  a  ridge  that  kept  him  from  view  of 
the  antelopes,  he  reached  a  point  where  he  could  ob 
tain  a  good  shot  at  them  when  they  were  alarmed  by 
the  Indian  and  took  to  flight. 

Thus  it  happened,  much  to  Dick's  amazement,  that 
Frank  brought  in  the  antelope,  while  Old  Joe  returned 
empty-handed. 

This  seemed  something  like  a  marvel  to  the  lad, 
but,  if  possible,  Old  Joe  was  even  more  astonished, 
and,  although  he  tried  to  conceal  it,  he  felt  deeply 
chagrined  over  the  outcome  of  the  affair. 

Joe,  however,  insisted  on  cooking  the  juicy  steak 
cut  from  the  slain  antelope,  and,  though  he  felt  that 
he  could  do  it  quite  as  well  himself,  Merry  did  not 
refuse  the  old  fellow  this  privilege. 

The  smoke  of  their  camp-fire  rose  in  a  blue  column. 
Behind  them  rose  the  cottonwoods  by  the  stream,  and 
the  majestic  mountains  towered  close  at  hand.  Soon 
the  coffee-pot  was  simmering  on  some  coals  raked  out 
from  the  fire,  sending  forth  a  delightful  odor  that 
gave  every  one  a  feeling  of  ravenous  hunger. 

Wrapped  in  his  old  red  blanket,  Crowfoot  squatted 
by  the  fire  and  broiled  the  antelope  steak,  smoking  his 
pipe. 

No  one  observed  that  Dick  had  slipped  away.  They 
were  talking  of  college  days,  and  the  conversation 


228  From  the  Jaws  of  Death. 

served  to  make  them  forgetful  of  their  romantic  sur 
roundings. 

"Alas !"  sighed  Ready,  "old  Yale  will  not  seem  like 
it  used  to  be,  now  that  Merry  has  taken  himself  hence, 
his  radiant  brow  wreathed  in  undying  laurels." 

"I'm  glad  I'm  through,"  asserted  Bart.  "I  couldn't 
stay  there  another  year." 

"It'll  be  hard  on  me,"  confessed  Jack.  "But  I'll 
have  to  stand  it.  There  is  one  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  that  there  will  be  no  one  in  Yale  to  dispute 
my  claim  to  the  honor  of  being  the  most  beautiful 
and  highly  intellectual  chap  on  the  campus.  But  the 
football-games—- oh,  my!  And  the  baseball-games — 
oh,  me !  What  will  they  be  without  Merry  ?  Oh,  Lud ! 
I  shall  think  with  breaking  heart  of  the  days  gone  by, 
when  the  only  and  original  Frank  Merriwell  reigned. 
I  shall  listen  in  vain  for  the  acclaiming  populace  to 
thunder  forth  his  name.  Nevermore!  ah,  nevermore!" 

Then,  as  Jack  pretended  to  weep,  there  came  a  sud 
den  and  startling  interruption.  There  was  a  clatter  of 
hoofs,  a  shout,  and  a  cry  of  warning. 

They  started  and  turned.  Bearing  down  upon  them 
was  a  wild-eyed  steer,  and,  astride  the  back  of  the 
animal,  they  saw  Dick  Merriwell ! 

"Look  out!  Jump!"  cried  Frank,  as,  with  lowered 
head,  the  frightened  steer  charged  straight  for  the 
fire. 


From  the  Jaws  of  Death.  229 

"Make  way  for  the  gentleman !"  cried  Ready,  scram 
bling  aside  in  ludicrous  haste. 

Bart  Hodge  got  out  of  the  way  without  a  word. 

And  right  through  the  smoke,  leaping  over  the  fire, 
went  the  steer,  while  a  wild  peal  of  laughter  came  from 
the  lips  of  the  daredevil  boy  astride  the  back  of  the 
creature. 

"Oh,  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  shouted  the  lad.  "Ha!  ha! 
ha!  Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Talk  about  your  untamed  catamounts!"  gurgled 
Ready.  "Why,  that  boy  is  the  worst  yet !" 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Old  Joe.    "Him  got  Injun  heart." 

But  Frank  said  not  a  word,  as  he  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  ran  toward  the  spot  where  his  horse  was 
picketed. 

Merry  knew  Dick  was  in  danger,  for  the  wild  steer 
might  run  at  that  mad  pace  for  miles  and  miles,  and 
there  was  no  telling  what  might  happen  when  the  lad 
got  off  the  creature's  back. 

Merry's  horse  snorted  as  he  came  up,  backing  away 
and  flinging  up  its  head ;  but  he  seized  the  picket-rope 
and  quickly  had  the  beast  by  the  head. 

Up  came  the  picket,  and  Frank  quickly  flung  him 
self  on  the  back  of  the  horse,  without  stopping  to 
saddle  his  mount.  Then  he  whirled  the  horse's  head 
toward  the  spot  where  he  could  see  the  steer  careering 


23O  From  the  Jaws  of  Death. 

down  the  valley,  and  gave  the  bronco  the  end  of  the 
rope. 

He  was  off  in  pursuit,  wondering  how  it  happened 
that  Dick  had  managed  to  get  astride  the  steer. 

The  explanation  was  simple  enough.  Dick  had  wan 
dered  away  to  the  stream,  where  he  climbed  into  the 
lower  branches  of  a  tree.  The  steer  came  along  to 
drink,  and  the  reckless  youngster  dropped  astride  his 
back. 

Merriwell  urged  the  horse  to  its  fastest  pace,  guiding 
it  with  the  picket-rope.  He  did  not  look  back  to  see 
if  any  of  the  others  followed,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  the 
steer  that  was  bearing  the  boy  away. 

The  herd  of  cattle  at  a  distance  looked  up  in  alarm 
as  the  frightened  steer  approached.  Merry  feared  they 
might  stampede,  with  the  steer  ridden  by  the  boy  at 
their  head. 

As  the  animal  approached  the  rest  of  the  cattle,  it 
suddenly  swerved  to  one  side  and  made  a  half-circle. 
Then  it  partly  stopped,  and,  seizing  the  opportunity, 
Dick  slipped  from  its  back  to  the  ground. 

Frank  lashed  his  horse  still  harder,  for  he  knew 
that  Dick  was  now  in  the  greatest  peril  of  all.  The 
cattle  of  the  phins  are  used  to  the  sight  of  mounted 
men,  whom  they  respect  and  fear;  but  the  spectacle 
of  a  human  being  on  foot  attracts  them,  first  arousing 
their  curiosity  and  then  their  rage.  Woe  to  the  hap- 


From  the  Jaws  of  Death.  231 

less  man  who  is  thus  discovered  by  a  herd  of  cattle, 
for,  unless  he  can  quickly  find  shelter  of  some  sort, 
he  is  almost  certain  to  be  charged  upon,  gored,  and 
trampled. 

Knowing  this,  Merry  raced  to  the  rescue  of  his 
brother,  his  heart  in  his  throat. 

The  steer  ran  a  short  distance,  and  then  turned 
and  looked  at  the  boy,  pawing  the  ground.  The  cattle 
began  to  approach,  gathering  in  on  the  lad. 

"Keep  still!"  muttered  Frank,  as  he  again  lashed 
his  horse.  "Face  them,  Dick — face  them!" 

The  boy  did  face  them  at  first,  but  they  gathered 
thicker  and  thicker.  One  after  another  they  began 
to  bellow  and  paw  the  ground.  Their  eyes  glared, 
and  their  aspect  was  awesome  indeed. 

The  boy  turned  and  moved  away,  upon  which  the 
herd  started  after  him.  He  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  saw  them  coming.  The  bright  colors  in 
his  clothes  aided  in  arousing  them.  Then  Dick  saw 
Frank  racing  toward  him,  and  he  turned  in  that  di 
rection. 

"Keep  still!"  shouted  Merry.  "Don't  run!  don't 
run!" 

But  the  only  word  Dick  understood  was : 

"Run!" 

Immediately  he  started  running  toward  the  ap* 
proaching  horseman. 


232  From  the  Jaws  of  Death. 

In  a  moment  the  great  herd  was  moving  after  him, 
'faster,  faster,  faster.  There  rose  a  rumble  of  hoofs 
that  was  terrifying,  a  clatter  of  horns  like  musketry, 
and  behind  the  mass  of  cattle  floated  upward  a  dust- 
cloud  that  resembled  the  smoke  of  battle. 

Frank  Merriwell  urged  his  horse  to  its  utmost,  bend- 
ang  forward  and  seeking  to  estimate  the  possibility 
of  reaching  the  boy  in  time. 

Dick  ran  for  his  life,  well  knowing  that  certain 
Jdeath  was  seeking  to  overtake  him. 

Nearer,  nearer,  nearer!    Then  Frank  shouted: 

"Standstill!    Make  ready!" 

It  seemed  that  the  rushing  herd  must  sweep  them 
both  down,  but  Frank  charged  athwart  the  crest  of 
the  mass  of  animals. 

Fortunately  the  boy  heard  and  understood  this  time. 
He  stopped  and  partly  lifted  his  arms,  but,  knowing 
that  to  pick  him  up  while  dashing  at  full  speed  OH 
horseback  was  a  feat  worthy  of  a  most  experienced 
and  expert  cowboy,  there  was  doubt  and  fear  in  his 
heart. 

Frank  leaned  over,  clinging  to  the  neck  of  the  horse. 
It  seemed  that  he  meant  to  run  the  boy  down,  he 
went  so  close  to  Dick.  As  he  passed,  he  made  a  clutch 
at  the  strong  sash  of  the  lad — caught  it — held  fast ' 

The  boy  was  lifted  by  Frank's  powerful  arm.  He 
felt  himself  raised  and  flung  across  the  horse  in  front 


From  the  Jaws  of  Death. 

of  his  brother,  and  then  the  doubly  burdened  horse 
wheeled  and  swept  away  from  beneath  the  very  noses 
of  the  cattle. 

The  herd  did  not  follow  far.  The  cattle  seemed 
surprised  at  the  sudden  disappearance  of  their  in 
tended  victim,  and  they  quickly  settled  down  and 
stopped. 

When  they  were  safely  away,  Frank  lifted  Dick, 
holding-  an  arm  about  him.  The  lad  looked  at  Merry's 
face  and  saw  it  was  very  pale,  but  strong,  and  resolute, 
and  masterful. 

"That  was  a  dose  call,  Dick,5*  said  Frank  quietly. 
"I  was  afraid  once  that  I'd  not  get  there  in  time." 

Not  a  word  of  reproach  or  reproof.  In  that  mo 
ment  the  heart  of  Dick  Merriwell  went  out  to  his 
brother  in  a  great  leap  of  affection. 

"Frank,"  he  said,  his  voice  not  quite  steady,  "J-»* 
I  want  to  stay  with  you — always." 

"You  shall,  Dick!"  promised  Fsanli. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CHALLENGED. 

"For  the  love  of  goodness !" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Look  at  this!" 

Bart  Hodge  did  not  often  get  excited  and  express 
his  feelings  by  ejaculations,  but  now  he  was  the  first 
speaker.  Merriwell  was  the  one  who  asked  the  ques 
tion,  and  Bart  thrust  the  paper  he  had  been  reading 
toward  Frank  as  he  said,  "Look  at  this." 

"Where?"  asked  Merry. 

"There !"  said  Bart,  pointing  his  index-finger  at 
the  article  that  had  excited  his  astonishment.  "Just 
read  that,  will  you !" 

The  matter  under  observation  was  headed,  "Base 
ball  Challenge,"  and  read  as  follows: 

"It  is  reported  that  Frank  Merriwell,  late  captain 
of  the  Yale  baseball  and  football-team,  is  in  the  vicinity 
of  Denver,  having  brought  with  him  a  picked  ball-team, 
with  which  he  proposes  to  wipe  up  the  earth  with  any 
thing  and  everything  he  can  find  west  of  the  Missis 
sippi.  Such  being  the  case,  as  manager  of  the  Denver 
Reds,  the  champion  independent  baseball-team  of  the 
State  of  Colorado,  I  challenge  Merriwell's  team  to  a 


Challenged.  235 

game  of  ball,  to  be  played  in  Denver  any  time  within 
ten  days,  for  a  purse  and  the  entire  gate-receipts. 

"I  am  confident  that  my  team  can  show  the  colle 
gians  a  few  points  in  our  great  national  game,  and  I 
believe  that  as  a  pitcher  Merriwell  has  been  greatly 
overrated.  Everybody  with  sense  knows  that  the 
story  that  he  can  throw  a  ball  that  will  curve  both  in 
and  out  before  reaching  the  batter  is  perfectly  ridicu 
lous,  and,  in  case  he  has  sufficient  courage  to  accept 
this  challenge,  the  Reds  have  the  utmost  confidence 
that  they  can  bat  him  out  of  the  box  before  the  end 
of  the  third  inning. 

"It  is  admitted  that  last  season  he  did  manage  an 
independent  team  that  won  a  number  of  victories,  de 
feating  a  Denver  club,  but  I  contend  that  the  majority 
of  the  nines  playing  against  him  were  made  up  of  the 
rankest  amateurs,  and  that  not  one  team  in  the  list 
was  in  the  same  class  with  the  Reds.  Not  knowing 
Mr.  Merriwell's  present  address,  I  take  this  means  of 
placing  my  challenge  before  him,  but  I  sadly  fear  that 
he  will  not  have  sufficient  courage  to  accept. 

"DAVID  MORLEY,  Mgr.  Denver  Reds." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  lobby  of  the  Metropole 
Hotel  in  the  city  of  Denver,  where  they  had  met 
Browning,  Rattleton,  Gamp,  and  Carker  that  day  by 
appointment. 

The  expedition  that  had  set  out  to  find  Swiftwing 
had  not  been  successful.  They  had  found  only  his 
deserted  shanty.  The  Indian  and  his  wife  were  gone. 


236  Challenged. 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  challenge,  Frank 
laughed  quietly,  but,  on  looking  up,  saw  Hodge  was 
scowling  blackly. 

"That's  a  case  of  unbounded  confidence,  isn't  it, 
Bart?" 

"Unbounded  insolence,  I  call  it!"  growled  Hodge. 
"Why,  that  challenge  is  almost  an  insult — it  is  an  in 
sult!" 

"It's  pretty  plain  language,"  Frank  admitted. 

"Plain!  It's  rank!  Why,  the  fellow  says  you 
haven't  courage  enough  to  accept!" 

"Well,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  convince  him  that  he 
has  made  a  mistake." 

"But  he  sneers  at  your  pitching." 

"Possibly  I  may  be  able  to  take  some  of  his  sneering 
out  of  him  in  a  game,  if  I  happen  to  be  in  form." 

"I  know  you  can,  Merriwell,  but  the  crust  of  it  is 
what  galls  me.  He  says  you  have  been  overrated." 

"Probably  he  thinks  so." 

"Well,  he's  got  another  think  coming  to  him." 

"This  is  exactly  what  we  are  looking  for,  Hodge. 
We  have  pulled  ourselves  together  to  play  ball,  and 
we " 

"We  haven't  had  any  practise." 

"Morley  gives  us  enough  time  for  that.  We  caw 
play  him  any  time  within  ten  days." 

"Besides,  we  are  two  men  short,  and  I  don't  set 


Challenged.  237 

how  Wt  are  going  to  fill  out  the  nine.  Stubbs  can't 
come,  and  Mason's  mother  died  at  just  the  time  to 
prevent  him  from  joining  us,  and  here  we  are.  It's 
out  that  you  have  a  ball-team,  and  this  duffer  flings 
us  a  challenge." 

Bart's  warm  blood  had  been  stirred  by  the  offen 
sive  challenge  in  the  Denver  paper,  and  he  was  not 
in  a  pleasant  mood. 

"If  we  had  found  Swiftwing "  Merry  began. 

"But  we  didn't,"  Hodge  cut  in. 

"I'd  give  a  little  to  know  where  he  has  gone." 

"Old  Joe  said  he  would  find  him.  And  that's  the 
last  we  have  heard  of  Old  Joe.  I  don't  believe  we'll 
ever  see  anything  of  that  old  vagrant  again." 

"Somehow  I  have  a  fancy  that  Old  Joe  will  turn 
tap  with  news  of  Swiftwing." 

"What  if  he  does?  He  may  not  turn  up  in  time 
to  do  any  good,  and  you  can't  remain  idle  and  wait 
for  something  that  may  happen.  You  must  accept 
that  challenge,  Frank." 

"I  intend  to,"  came  quietly  from  Merry's  lips. 

"Without  the  two  men  needed  ?" 

"I'll  have  to  pick  up  men  somehow.  Now,  there's 
Berlin  Carson " 

"Speaking  of  me,  Merriwell?" 

Both  Frank  and  Bart  started  and  turned  as  the 
svords  fell  on  their  ears.  Toward  them  advanced  a 


238  Challenged. 

prepossessing  youth,  who  had  observed  them  sitting 
there  as  he  was  passing  through  the  lobby. 

"Carson,  as  I  live!"  exclaimed  Frank,  in  deep  satis 
faction,  as  he  quickly  rose  and  extended  his  hand. 

With  a  long,  quick  stride,  the  newcomer  approached 
and  grasped  the  proffered  hand,  his  blue  eyes  beaming 
with  pleasure. 

"Merriwell,  I  am  overjoyed!"  he  declared.  "I  heard 
you  were  somewhere  in  Colorado,  but  I  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  running  across  you  here.  It's  lucky  the 
governor  sent  me  into  town  on  business  at  this  time." 

"Lucky  for  us,"  nodded  Frank,  as  Carson  and 
Hodge  shook  hands.  "You  are  the  eighth  man  for 
our  ball-team,  if  we  can  get  you  to  come  in  with  us." 

The  eyes  of  the  Colorado  lad  showed  his  satisfac 
tion. 

"You  can  count  on  me  for  anything,  Merriwell," 
he  asserted.  "The  governor  is  sure  to  let  me  join 
you,  for  he  thinks  you  are  just  about  the  proper  thing, 
and  he  has  thought  so  ever  since  he  first  met  you.  He 
knows  I'd  never  made  the  varsity  nine  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  you,  and  that  makes  him  think  all  the  more 
of  you.  You  may  count  on  me.  Where  are  your  other 
men?" 

"They're  out  looking  the  city  over." 

"Who  are  they?" 

Frank  told  him. 


Challenged.  239 

"All  good  men  but  Carker,"  said  Carson;  "and  he 
can  put  up  a  good  game  when  he  gets  right  down  to 
it" 

"But  we're  still  a  man  short/'  said  Hodge.  "Mer- 
riwell  has  a  brother,  a  perfect  little  wonder;  but  he's 
too  young — only  thirteen.*' 

"A  brother?"  exclaimed  Carson,  who  knew  nothing 
of  recent  developments  in  connection  with  Frank. 

Then  Merriwell  briefly  outlined  the  whole  strange 
Story,  having  a  very  interested  listener. 

"He's  a  wonder,"  Hodge  again  declared,  referring 
to  Dick  Merriwell;  "but  he  has  never  seen  a  regular 
game  of  ball  in  his  life.  He  had  some  balls,  mitts, 
and  a  bat  out  there  in  Pleasant  Valley,  where  he  has 
always  lived,  and  you  should  have  seen  him  get  after 
the  ball.  Why,  that  boy  has  more  sand  than  any  fel 
low  I  ever  saw,  and  he  is  made  up  of  determination. 
He  just  sets  his  teeth  and  catches  anything  that  is 
tossed  up  to  him.  Merry  has  begun  to  teach  him  to 
pitch." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Frank,  "and  he  is  furious  because  he 
can't  get  onto  the  trick  of  throwing  the  double-shoot. 
He  swears  he'll  do  it  if  he  lives  long  enough." 

"That's  the  true  Merriwell  stuff,"  nodded  Carson. 
"I've  never  seen  him,  but  I'll  bet  my  life  he'll  make 
a  bird." 

"But  it's  useless  to  think  of  playing  him,"  said  Mer- 


240  Challenged. 

riwell.  "Besides  being  too  young,  he  knows  next  to 
nothing  about  the  game.  Fm  going  to  take  him  round 
with  me  this  summer  and  give  him  all  the  education 
in  the  ball-playing  line  that  I  can." 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  find  a  man,"  said  Berlin.  "I 
know  some  players,  and  I'll " 

Just  then  something  happened  that  caused  the  trio 
to  wheel  about  instantly. 


CHAPTER  XXIfl. 

DICK    MERRIWELI/S    NERVE. 

"Take  your  dog  away,  sir !  Take  him  away,  or  I'll 
shoot  him !" 

A  clear,  boyish  voice  rang  through  the  lobby  of  the 
hotel. 

"Black"  Ben  Elrich,  one  of  the  best  known  sporting 
men  and  gamblers  of  the  State,  had  just  passed  along 
the  corridor,  accompanied  by  two  companions  of  his 
ilk  and  a  huge,  fierce-looking  mastiff. 

Dick  Merriwell,  running  lightly  into  the  corridor, 
had  been  stopped  by  the  dog,  which  suddenly  whirled 
on  him  and  drove  him  back  several  steps,  seeming  on 
the  point  of  leaping  at  the  lad's  throat. 

For  some  unknown  reason  the  dog  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  sudden  dislike  to  the  boy,  and,  as  he  growled 
and  showed  his  teeth,  he  looked  dangerous,  indeed. 

Immediately  on  being  driven  back  by  the  dog,  Dick 
had  drawn  a  revolver,  which  he  held  ready  for  use. 
Elrich  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  and 
anger. 

"Stop  Rex,  Dan !"  he  exclaimed.  "Get  hold  of  him, 
Tom!  He'll  chew  up  the  kid!" 

"He  won't  do  that,"  returned  the  boy  instantly,  "for 


242  Dick  Merriwell's  Nerve. 

I  shall  shoot  him  in  his  tracks  if  you  don't  take  care 
of  him." 

The  men  accompanying  Elrich  leaped  forward,  one 
on  either  side  of  the  dog,  and  grasped  the  huge  animal 
by  the  collar.  Barely  had  they  seized  him  thus  when 
the  animal  tried  to  make  a  spring  at  the  throat  of  the 
boy,  and  it  took  their  combined  strength  to  hold  him 
in  check.  "It's  a  good  thing  for  him  that  you  grabbed 
him  just  when  you  did/'  exclaimed  the  cool  youngster. 
"I  knew  he  was  going  to  jump,  and  I'd  sure  shot 
him." 

"Why,  confound  you,  kid!"  growled  Elrich,  as  the 
men  pulled  the  dog  back;  "how  dare  you  pull  a  re 
volver  on  my  dog  ?" 

"I'd  pull  a  gun  on  your  dog  just  as  quick  as  I  would 
on  you,"  returned  Dick.  "I  don't  consider  your  dog 
much  better  than  you,  sir,  though  it's  right  likely  he 
is  some." 

"That  is  my  brother !"  said  Frank  Merriwell  to  Ber 
lin  Carson. 

"Well,  he's  a  hummer  P  exclaimed  the  rancher's 
son,  in  deep  admiration. 

"Let's  sift  in  and  take  part  in  that,"  breathed  Hodge 
eagerly. 

"Wait,"  advised  Frank.  "I  want  to  see  what  that 
black-whiskered  fellow  will  try  to  do,  and  I  also  wish 
to  see  how  Dick  handles  himself." 


Dick  Merriwell's  Nerve.  243 

The  big  sporting  man  was  angered  by  the  words  of 
the  ready-tongued  youngster,  and  he  growled: 

"You're  an  insolent  brat,  and  you  need  to  be  taught 
a  lesson!" 

"I  scarcely  think  it  would  be  to  my  advantage  t& 
have  you  for  an  instructor,"  returned  the  lad.  "Any 
thing  I'd  learn  of  you  would  be  an  injury  to  me." 

Now,  "Black"  Elrich  had  killed  his  man,  and  was 
generally  respected  and  feared  by  the  dangerous  ele 
ment  of  the  town,  and  it  was  a  novel  experience  for 
him  to  have  anybody  fearlessly  face  him  and  talk  to 
him  in  such  a  manner. 

"I'd  begin  by  wringing  your  neck!"  he  asserted. 
"It's  just  what  you  deserve!" 

"And  I'd  shoot  you  so  full  of  holes  that  you'd 
make  a  first-class  sieve,  which  would  be  just  what  you 
deserve,"  retorted  Dick  Merriwell,  his  cheeks  burning. 

"If  you  were  a  man " 

"Don't  let  that  bother  you,  mister.  I  can  take  care 
of  myself.  Keep  your  hands  out  of  sight,  or  I  may 
think  you're  reaching  for  a  shooting-iron,  in  which 
case  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  break  your  elbow  with  a 
bullet" 

"Why,  you  don't  know  how  to  handle  such  a  toy  as 
that!" 

"Don't  I  ?    Perhaps  not,  but  I've  had  a  few  lessons 


244  Dick  Merriwell's  Nerve. 

from  a  man  who  is  your  master  with  any  kind  of  a 
weapon." 

"Meaning  you?"  asked  Carson  of  Merriwell. 

"Meaning  an  old  Indian  by  the  name  of  Joe  Crow 
foot,"  explained  Frank,  in  a  low  tone.  "Crowfoot 
taught  him  to  shoot  rifle,  revolver,  and  bow  and  arrow, 
and  he's  a  credit  to  his  tutor." 

"Well,  you're  a  mere  kid,  and  you  have  no  right  to 
carry  concealed  weapons,"  said  Elrich. 

"And  you're  a  mere  ruffian,  who  has  less  right  to 
carry  concealed  weapons,"  flung  back  Dick.  "I  know 
you've  got  a  gun  on  your  hip,  and  I  shall  ask  to  have 
you  searched  if  you  make  complaint  against  me." 

"That's  the  stuff!"  muttered  Carson.  "He's  sized 
£p  Black  Elrich  in  a  minute,  and  he's  bluffing  the  most 
dangerous  man  in  Denver." 

The  eyes  of  Bart  Hodge  glowed  with  satisfaction. 
Bart  had  never  spoken  a  word  of  praise  to  Dick,  but 
there  was  about  the  boy  much  that  awakened  his  ad 
miration. 

"Where's  your  father?"  demanded  the  gambler, 
furiously.  "I'll  call  on  him  and  see  if  he " 

"You'll  never  call  on  him,"  Dick  declared,  "for 
you're  not  going  in  his  direction.  He's  up  there." 

The  boy  pointed  upward,  and  Black  Ben  thought  he 
meant  that  his  father  was  above  in  the  hotel. 


Dick  Merri well's  Nerve.  245 

•'What's  his  name?"  demanded  the  man.  "I'll  go 
tip  to  him  at  once." 

"Spare  yourself  the  trouble,  for  it's  higher  than 
you'll  ever  get.  He  is  dead." 

For  a  moment  the  man  was  taken  aback,  and  then 
his  fiery  temper  flamed  up. 

"You're  some  runaway  brat  who  thinks " 

"Stop!"  exclaimed  the  lad.  "That  is  the  second 
time  you  have  called  me  a  brat,  and  I  warn  you  not 
to  do  so  again !  I  am  not  a  brat,  and  I " 

At  this  point  one  of  the  men  who  had  pulled  the 
dog  away  stepped  in  by  a  side  door  and  clutched  the 
wrist  of  the  boy,  giving  it  a  wrench  and  twisting  the 
revolver  away  with  his  other  hand. 

It  was  done  in  a  twinkling,  and  Black  Elrich  sprang 
forward.  At  the  same  moment  Merriwell  advanced, 
iwith  his  two  companions  at  his  heels. 

But,  before  one  of  them  could  interfere,  out  through 
the  same  door  strode  a  tall  form  that  caught  the  maa 
who  had  clutched  Dick,  grasped  him  by  the  neck,  gave 
him  a  swing  and  a  throw  that  flung  him  fifteen  feet 
away,  sprawling  on  the  tiled  floor  of  the  corridor. 

Behind  this  tall  figure  came  another,  about  the  shoul 
ders  of  which  was  a  dirty  red  blanket,  perchance  the 
most  remarkable  figure  ever  seen  in  the  Hotel  Metro- 
pole. 

Both  were  Indians,  but  the  first,  almost  six  feet  tall 


246  Dick  Merri well's  Nerve. 

and  straight  as  an  arrow,  was  dressed  in  the  garments 
of  civilization.  The  other,  however,  must  have  at 
tracted  attention  anywhere  in  Denver  from  his  half- 
savage  attire.  The  first  was  young  and  handsome; 
the  second  was  old  and  wrinkled. 

"Joe  I"  cried  the  boy,  as  he  saw  the  old  Indian. 

"Ugh!"  said  Old  Joe  Crowfoot. 

With  a  furious  exclamation,  Black  Elrich  started 
to  whip  out  a  revolver;  but  his  wrist  was  clutched 
from  behind  by  fingers  that  seemed  like  bands  of  steel, 
and  he  was  held  fast,  while  a  quiet  voice  spoke  in  his 
ear: 

"I  wouldn't  try  that  trick,  sir!  You  have  been 
monkeying  with  my  brother,  and  I  shall  have  to  call 
you  to  account  if  he  is  molested  further." 

Elrich  was  trembling  with  the  intensity  of  his  rage. 

"Let  go!"  he  panted,  as  he  looked  round. 

A  pair  of  calm  brown  eyes  looked  into  his  with  utter 
{fearlessness,  and  Frank  Merriwell  spoke  again: 

"I  shall  not  let  go  until  you  realize  the  folly  of 
trying  to  do  any  shooting  here.  Two  friends  are  with 
me,  besides  the  two  who  have  just  interfered  to  pro 
tect  my  brother,  and  we  can  do  some  shooting  when 
it  is  necessary.** 

Elrich  became  cool  at  once. 

"I  see  that  you  have  the  advantage,  sir,"  he  said; 
"and  I  will  not  be  foolish  enough  to  draw.  I  give 


Dick  Merriwell's  Nerve.  247 

you  the  word  of  Ben  Elrich,  and  my  word  is  good, 
whatever  else  may  be  said  about  me." 

Instantly  Frank  released  the  wrist  of  the  man. 

"I  accept  your  word  of  honor,"  he  said. 

"But  let  me  tell  you,"  said  the  baffled!  gambler, 
**that  I'll  not  forget  what  has  happened  here.  You 
say  that  boy  is  your  brother?  Well,,  you  had  better 
take  care  of  him." 

"I  have  an  idea  that,  given  a  fair  show,  Ee  can  take 
care  of  himself.  He  proved  quite  able  to  da  so  until 
one  of  your  friends  caught  him  at  a  disadvantage  by 
a  trick.  It  took  two  men  to  get  the  best  of  a  boy 
of  thirteen,  which  is  something  I  feel  certain  you  will 
not  be  proud  of."' 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  Elrich.  "I  may  wish 
to  see  you  again." 

"My  name  is  Frank  Merriwell,  and  you  wiH  find 
me  right  here  at  this  hotel,  for  a  day  or  two,  at  least." 

"Frank  Merriwell !"  muttered  Black  Ben,  starting  a 
trifle,  and  looking  at  Merry  with  added  interest.  "And 
this  is  your  brother  ?" 

"Exactly." 

Then  the  gambler  turned  and  looked  at  Dick,  as  if 
fixing  the  features  of  the  boy  %ipoa  his  memory,  so  that 
he  would  know  the  lad  again,  anywhere  and  under  any 
circumstances. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
MERRY'S   CHUMS. 

When  the  chagrined  and  defeated  Elrich,  together 
with  his  worthy  companion,  had  departed  from  the 
corridor,  Frank  MerriweU  lost  no  time  in  offering 
feis  hand  to  the  handsome  young  Indian  who  had  in 
tervened  in  time  to  save  Dick  from  further  molesta- 
fcion. 

"Swiftwing !"  Merry  exclaimed,  in  deep  satisfaction. 
"*1  am  glad  to  see  you." 

The  face  of  the  Indian  remained  grave,  but  deep 
in  his  eyes  shone  a  light  that  told  his  unspeakable 
enootions. 

"Frank  Merriwell,"  he  said,  in  a  deep,  well-modu 
lated  voice,  "once  I  thought  never  to  look  on  your 
face  again,  but  fate  has  permitted  us  to  meet  once 
more." 

Frank  thought  of  the  farewell  message  written  him 
by  the  Carlisle  Indian  almost  a  year  before,  in  which 
Swiftwing  had  expressed  the  affection  and  admiration 
that  his  tongue  had  never  spoken.  Their  hand  lin 
gered  in  contact,  and  then  Hodge  offered  to  shake. 

Bart  had  never  liked  Swiftwing  much,  but  now  he 
was  truly  glad  to  see  the  young  Indian. 


Merry's  Chums.  249 

Old  Joe  Crowfoot  stood  there  like  a  mummy,  his 
kee»  Mack  eyes  watching  all  that  took  place. 

"It's  a  great  piece  of  luck,"  said  Merry.  "Yon  are 
the  man  to  fill  out  our  baseball-team." 

"It  is  not  luck,"  said  Swiftwing.  "Crowfoot  came 
to  me  and  told  me  yon  had  been  searching  for  me/* 

"Then  I  have  Crowfoot  to  thank?" 

"Old  Joe,  him  tell  you  he  bring  Swiftwing,"  said 
the  old  fellow  quietly. 

"And  you  have  kept  yorxr  promise." 

"Not  for  you,"  Old  Joe  asserted.     "For  Dick/' 

"Dick,  he * 

"He  make  Old  Joe  promise." 

"But  I  thought " 

"You  thought  I  did  not  care,"  said  the  boy.  "And 
yet  you  had  snatched  me  from  beneath  the  hoofs  of  a 
herd  of  cattle." 

"Which  was  no  more  than  a  fair  return  for  the 
limes  that  you  kept  Old  Joe  from  letting  daylight 
through  me." 

"Joe  thought  he  would  be  doing  me  a  favor;  that 
iwas  why  he  tried  to  shoot  you  twice." 

"Merriwell,"  said  Carson,  "it  strikes  me  that  you 
have  your  baseball-team." 

"Right !"  exclaimed  Hodge.  "Now  we'll  take  some 
Df  the  conceit  out  of  the  Denver  Reds." 

"1  have  not  played  the  game  since  I  left  you  last 


250  Merry's  Chums. 

year,"  said  Swiftwing.     "I  shall  be  entirely  out  ol 
practise." 

"We  have  time  to  get  into  practise  some,"  Merry 
•xplained.  "We'll  try  to  do  so  without  delay.  Where 
is  the  White  Dove,  Swiftwing?" 

"She  became  tired  of  our  life,  far  from  the  friends 
she  had  known,"  explained  the  young  Indian.  "It  is 
not  strange,  for  she  has  the  blood  of  the  white  man 
in  her  veins.  I  saw  she  was  getting  restless  and  un 
happy.  At  first  she  would  not  tell  me  why,  but  1 
discovered  her  secret.  Then  I  sent  her  back  to  Bad 
ger's  ranch,  where  she  shall  stay  till  she  wants  to  come 
to  me  again." 

"And  you,"  said  Frank,  smiling  a  little,  "despite 
your  resolve  to  become  a  hermit  and  mingle  no  more 
with  men,  I  rather  fancy  you  fell  to  longing  for  the 
excitement  of  the  diamond  and  the  tumult  of  the 
gridiron.  Is  it  not  true,  John?" 
•  "Sometimes  I  think  of  it,"  the  young  Indian  con 
fessed.  "It  is  like  nothing  else,  and  once  a  man  has 
played  the  games  and  loved  them,  he  may  never  quite 
forget." 

"That's  the  truth,"  nodded  Carson. 

They  took  the  elevator  and  went  up  to  Merry's 
room,  Frank  insisting  that  Crowfoot  should  come 
along.  Old  Joe  would  not  have  accompanied  them, 
however,  had  not  Dick  urged  him  to  do  so. 


'Merry's  Chums. 

"Smoke?"  questioned  the  wrinkled  Indian,  as  soon 
as  he  was  inside  Merriwell's  handsomely  furnished 
suite,  which  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  hotel. 

"As  much  as  you  like,"  nodded  Merry,  flinging 
svide  open  a  window. 

The  old  savage  gravely  squatted  on  the  floor,  bring 
ing  forth  his  long  black  pipe  and  filling  it  with  to 
bacco.  .When  he  had  lighted  it  he  sat  there,  puffing 
away  in  silence,  while  the  others  talked. 

Of  course,  there  was  much  to  talk  about,  and  the 
conversation  was  moving  briskly  when  Ready  and 
Rattleton  drifted  in.  Jack  struck  a  pose  when  his 
eyes  fell  on  Swiftwing. 

"What  is  this  I  behold?"  he  cried  dramatically.  "Is 
it  my  noble  friend  of  the  war-path  ?  Whoop !  It  is ! 
It  are?  It  am!  Come  to  me  arms,  my  noble  ghost- 
dancer,  and  let  me  fold  you,  like  a  long-lost  brother, 
in  a  fond  embrace." 

Then  he  pranced  forward  and  clasped  the  hand 
which  Swiftwing  gravely  submitted.  The  young  In 
dian  was  accustomed  to  the  exuberant  ways  of  Ready, 
and  took  no  offense. 

"And  here  is  that  gentle  young  gazelle,  Joseph  Crow 
foot,  Esquire,"  said  Ready,  making  a  grand  bow. 
"Chief,  I  salute  you." 

"Ugh!"  grunted  Old  Joe,  as  he  continued  smoking, 
without  paying  any  further  attention  to  Jack. 


252  Merry's  Chums. 

Then  Ready  saw  Carson,  rubbed  his  eyes,  loolced 
again,  pinched  himself,  and  exclaimed : 

"HoJha!  Also  he!  he!  Likewise  ho!  hoi  This 
is  another  jolly  little  surprise.  Here  is  me  old  side- 
partner,  the  cow-puncher!  Pard,  this  is  a  sight  for 
lame  eyes !  You  dear  old  maverick,  how  is  your  gen 
eral  health?" 

"It's  first-class,  Ready,"  laughed  Berlin,  as  he  shook 
fcands  with  Jack.  "I  don't  think  it  ever  was  better." 

"Isn't  that  perfectly  lovely !"  gurgled  Ready.  "You 
have  happened  along  just  in  time  to  get  into  the  round 
up.  In  the  words  of  the  poet,  'What,  oh,  what,  is  so 
jolly  as  the  sight  of  a  bosom  friend  whom  you  can 
touch  for  a  beautiful  green  bank-note  ?'  I  may  want  to 
borrow  a  dollar  or  ten  to-morrow,  Carson." 

"When  did  you  gind  this  fang — I  mean,  find  this 
gang?"  asked  Rattleton  of  Frank. 

"Swiftwing,  Crowfoot,  and  Carson  happened 
along,"  Merry  explained.  "It's  dead  lucky  for  us,  as 
we  have  been  challenged  by  the  Denver  Reds  to  play; 
ball,  and  we  were  two  men  short." 

Rattleton  had  met  Swiftwing,  and  he  shook  hands 
with  the  young  Indian,  while  Ready  was  chattering 
away  to  Carson.  Then  he  grasped  the  hand  of  the 
young  college  man. 

Soon  the  door  opened  to  admit  Gamp,  Browning, 
and  Carker,  who,  of  course,  were  equally  surprised. 


Merry's  Chums.  253 

"Gug-gug-gashf ry !"  laughed  the  New  Hampshire 
youth.  "This  is  just  like  old  tut-tut-times !" 

"Trouble!  trouble!"  murmured  Browning  wearily. 
"I  scent  baseball  in  the  air,  and  that  means  my  finish, 
I'll  melt  and  run  into  a  grease-spot  during  this  hot 
weather." 

"Baseball,  at  best,"  said  Carker,  "is  a  rather  cruel 
sport  in  many  ways.  It  is  the  triumph  of  the  weak 
over  the  strong,  which  is  a  sad  thing  to  contemplate 
under  any  circumstances." 

"Hush !"  said  Merriwell,  lifting  his  hand.  "Be  still, 
everybody  \" 

They  obeyed,  and,  after  a  moment,  Rattkton  asked: 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  fancied  I  heard  the  rumble  of  Carker's  pet  eartfc- 
quake,"  answered  Merry  gravely. 

Greg  flushed,  then  exclaimed : 

"That's  all  right,  Merry;  but  tEe  lime  is  coming 
;when  you  will  hear  and  feel  something  more  than  a 
distant  rumbling  and  a  faint  tremor,  fine  time  is 
coming  when " 

"Will — you — let — up!"  shouted  Greg's  college 
friends,  in  unison,  and  the  ardent  }?oung  Socialist  re 
lapsed  into  despairing  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   NINE   AT   PRACTISE. 

The  following  morning  the  principal  Denver  news 
paper  contained  the  following : 

"FRANK  MERRIWELL  ACCEPTS. 

"MR.  EDITOR. 

"DEAR  SIR  :  While  reading  your  paper  yesterday  I 
was  somewhat  surprised  to  see  the  challenge  of  Mr. 
David  Morley,  manager  of  the  Denver  Reds.  While 
it  is  true  that  I  have  a  number  of  my  friends  with  me 
at  the  present  time  and  have  contemplated  playing  ball, 
it  is  not  true  that  I  have  taken  special  pains  to  pick  a 
nine,  or  that  I  have  publicly  expressed  an  intention  of 
'wiping  up  the  earth  with  everything  I  can  find  west 
of  the  Mississippi/  It  seems  to  me  that  Mr.  Morley 's 
challenge  is  couched  in  language  that  is  not  only  of 
fensive,  but  is  likewise  insulting.  My  ball-team  has 
not  played  together  this  season,  and  therefore  is  not  in 
its  best  form.  Nevertheless,  I  am  willing  to  meet  the 
Reds,  and  we  will  do  our  best  to  make  the  game  inter 
esting.  As  we  are  out  for  sport  and  not  to  make 
money,  I  decline  to  play  the  game  for  a  special  purse; 
bul  I  am  willing  to  make  an  agreement  that  the  win 
ning  team  shall  take  the  entire  gate-receipts. 

"Yoars  truly,  FRANK  MERRIWELL. 

"Hotel  Mctropok." 


The  Mine  at  Practise.  255 

As  it  was  necessary  for  Merry's  team  to  get  some 
practise  without  delay,  Frank  secured  the  privilege 
pf  using  the  principal  ball-field  of  the  city  that  after 
noon. 

In  the  forenoon  the  entire  team  appeared  .at  a 
tailor's,  and  the  men  were  measured  for  suits. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  boys  appeared 
on  the  field  in  order  to  get  some  practise,  having 
bought  bats,  balls,  gloves,  mitts,  and  other  necessary 
articles. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Dick  Merriwell  went 
along.  Old  Joe  Crowfoot,  however,  had  disappeared 
the  previous  night,  and  had  not  been  seen  since. 

It  was  not  thought  that  they  would  be  troubled 
•with  spectators,  as  pains  had  been  taken  not  to  let  it 
become  known  that  they  thought  of  practising  at  that 
time, 

Dick  took  a  seat  on  the  bleachers,  where  he  intended 
to  remain  and  watch  the  practise. 

Frank  put  his  men  onto  the  field,  with  Swiftwing 
in  left,  Gamp  center,  and  Carker  right.  Of  course, 
Browning,  apparently  too  weary  to  move,  was  de 
tailed  to  cover  first  bag.  In  the  old  days  Rattleton  had 
made  a  very  satisfactory  man  on  second,  and  Merry 
placed  him  there  again,  while  Ready  was  planted  near 
third.  Carson  was  a  good  infield  man  at  any  point* 
and  Merry  made  him  short-stop. 


256  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

Then  Bart  and  Frank  started  in  to  give  the  men 
some  work  by  batting  out  to  them,  Merry  having  the 
infield  and  Bart  batting  to  the  outfield. 

This  was  the  simplest  form  of  practise,  but  it  was 
good  work  to  start  with,  and  soon  the  men  were  hard 
at  it,  although  they  could  not  do  as  well  as  they  might 
had  they  been  in  regular  uniforms. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  getting  the  crease  out  of  your 
trousers,  Rattles,  old  man,"  called  Ready.  "Tailors 
are  hard-working  and  industrious  people,  and  they 
must  have  business.  Besides,  we've  got  to  hump  our 
selves  if  we  shave  any  frozen  liquid  in  that  little  game 
with  the  redoubtable  Reds.  Yea,  verily!" 

They  went  into  it  in  earnest,  although  it  quickly 
became  apparent  that  practise  was  sadly  needed. 
Frank  gave  them  all  kinds  of  balls  to  handle,  hot 
grounders,  skippers,  slow  bunts,  high  flies,  little  pops, 
and  liners. 

"Ready!"  he  called,  and  out  to  Jack  he  drove  a 
slasher  along  the  third-base  line,  making  the  fielder  by 

that  bag  jump  and  stretch  for  it. 

v 

Jack  cuffed  it  with  one  hand,  stopped  it,  fumbled  it, 
got  it  up,  and  lined  it  across  to  first.  But  the  throvw 
was  bad. 

"That  stop  was  all  right,"  said  Frank,  "and  you 
would  have  had  time  to  gpet  the  man  after  vour  fum» 


The  Nine  at  Practise..  257 

ble  n  you'd  made  a  good  throw.    Lots  of  games  are 
lost  by  bad  infield  throwing.    Try  it  again." 

By  that  time  the  ball  had  been  thrown  in  to  him, 
and  he  again  sent  it  skimming  the  ground  toward 
third. 

Ready  set  his  teeth,  got  squarely  in  front  of  it  b$ 
a  hard  dive,  stopped  it,  but  did  not  pick  it  up  cleanly, 
fumbled  a  little,  and  then  made  a  beautiful  line  throw 
across  to  first. 

With  one  foot  on  the  bag,  Browning  lazily  smoth 
ered  the  ball  in  his  big  mitt. 

"That  was  better,"  commented  Frank,  "but  it  wasn't 
perfect.  Try  another." 

And  again  he  drove  a  "daisy-clipper"  toward  Jack, 
though  not  directly  at  him.  This  time  Ready  scooped 
up  the  ball,  turned  like  a  flash,  and  made  a  fine  throw 
to  first. 

"That's  the  stuff!"  declared  Frank  approvingly. 
"Now  you  are  doing  it  handsomely." 

He  kept  the  others  at  it  in  the  same  manner,  never 
letting  up  on  a  man  till  he  did  his  work  right.  He 
had  studied  the  temperament  of  each  individual  man, 
and  some  he  praised,  while  others  he  criticized,  though 
both  praise  and  criticism  were  of  the  kind  to  be  most 
effective  without  harming  the  player. 

Rattleton  had  not  been  playing  ball  for  some  time, 
and  two  failures  to  pick  up  hard  grounders  seemed  to 


258  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

take  the  confidence  out  of  him,  for  he  muttered,  loud 
enough  for  Carson  to  hear: 

"I'm  afraid  my  ball-playing  is  about  over.  I'm  not 
in  it  any  more.  I  feel  like  ficking  myself  over  the 
kence — I  mean,  kicking  myself  over  the  fence." 

He  had  not  intended  that  Frank  should  hear,  but 
Merry's  keen  ears  caught  the  words.  Immediately 
Frank  divined  that  Rattleton  had  lost  confidence,  and 
he  decided  at  once  that  it  must  be  restored.  Then  he 
batted  a  comparatively  easy  one  straight  at  the  second- 
baseman,  who  managed  to  get  it  and  send  it  to  first. 

"Why,  you  can't  help  doing  it  right  when  you  get 
into  gear,  Rattleton !"  laughed  Merriwell.  "It's  just  as 
natural  for  you  as  it  is  to  talk  backwards." 

Harry  knew  the  ball  had  been  easy  to  get,  but  these 
words  seemed  to  indicate  that  Frank  had  confidence  in 
him,  and  that  served  to  restore  his  own  confidence. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  working  much  better,  and 
he  soon  went  after  the  balls  as  if  he  felt  sure  of  getting 
them. 

"It  isn't  necessary  to  take  a  double  step  to  throw, 
Carson,"  said  Frank.  "That's  a  new  trick  with  you. 
You  don't  throw  that  way  naturally.  When  you  get 
a  ball  up  clean,  use  the  short-arm  throw  in  sending 
it  over  to  first,  with  a  step  just  as  the  arm  swings  for 
ward,  putting  the  weight  of  your  body  into  the  throw. 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  259 

THat  gets  the  ball  away  from  you  without  loss  of 
time." 

Carson's  face  was  red,  but  he  nodded,  saying,  good- 
naturedly  : 

"I'll  try  it,  if  I  can  remember." 

"Of  course  you  can  remember  in  practise,"  said 
Frank,  "and  what  you  get  in  the  habit  of  doing  in 
practise  is  what  you'll  do  in  a  game.  That's  what 
hurts  lots  of  men.  They  fool  around  in  practise,  and 
it  harms  them  when  they  come  into  a  game.  In  prac 
tising,  every  man  must  handle  himself  just  as  he  would 
in  a  game,  if  he  wishes  for  the  best  results." 

When  Browning  betrayed  a  disinclination  to 
"stretch"  for  balls  that  were  thrown  wide,  Frank  im 
mediately  opened  on  him  sharply.  He  did  not  do  so 
in  a  jollying  way,  knowing  jollying  would  not  awaken 
the  big  fellow  to  his  best,  but  spoke  in  earnest. 

"I'd  lick  any  other  man  for  that,"  muttered  Bruce 
to  himself;  "but,  as  long  as  it's  Merriwell,  I  guess  I'll 
have  to  ginger  up." 

And  he  did. 

All  this  served  to  awaken  Dick  Merriwell  to  a 
realizing  sense  of  Frank's  supreme  authority  over  men, 
and  he  glowed  with  pride  in  his  big  brother. 

Frank  was  giving  close  attention  to  the  work  of 
the  infield,  and  so  he  did  not  observe  much  that  was 


260  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

taking  place  in  the  outfield.  After  a  while,  however, 
Bart  came  close  and  said,  in  a  low  tone : 

"It's  no  use,  Merriwell ;  the  Indian  has  lost  his  cun 
ning.  He  hasn't  made  more  than  one  decent  catch 
thus  far,  and  he'll  be  just  about  as  good  as  a  ten-year- 
old  kid  in  that  field." 

Merry  was  somewhat  surprised  by  Bart's  words,  for 
Swiftwing  had  been  a  good  man  in  days  gone  by. 
True,  he  was  a  better  pitcher  than  outfielder,  but  he 
had  demonstrated  more  than  once  that  he  could  do 
good  work  in  the  field.  Immediately  Frank  said : 

"Change  round.     I'll  bat  to  the  outfield  a  while." 

He  drove  the  first  ball  out  to  Carker.  It  was  an 
easy  fly,  and  Greg  gathered  it  in  without  trouble. 

Then  Frank  gave  Gamp  one  that  made  the  long- 
legged  New  Hampshire  youth  cover  ground  to  the 
best  of  his  ability;  but  Gamp  was  in  form,  and  he 
pulled  the  ball  down  after  his  long  run. 

It  was  Swiftwing's  turn.  Merry  put  up  an  easy 
one,  but  he  refrained  from  driving  it  directly  at  the 
Indian,  knowing  many  fielders  will  miss  a  ball  when 
nervous  if  they  have  to  stand  still  and  wait  for  it, 
although  they  will  catch  it  when  they  have  to  make 
a  brisk  move  to  get  under  it. 

Swiftwing  got  under  the  ball,  but  he  did  not  hold  it. 

"You  couldn't  drop  another  one  if  you  tried  to," 
cried  Frank,  in  a  manner  and  tone  that  indicated  his 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  261 

firm  belief  in  his  own  words.  Then  he  proceeded  to 
drive  another  out  to  the  young  Indian. 

Swiftwing  got  under  it,  but  again  the  ball  bounced 
out  of  his  hands.  This  time,  however,  he  made  a 
leap  for  it,  and  caught  it  before  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

"That's  what  I  told  you !"  laughed  Frank.  "I  knew 
you  couldn't  drop  the  ball,  old  man.  It's  no  use  for 
any  old  ball  to  try  to  get  away  from  you." 

He  made  Swiftwing  believe  it,  and  from  that  time 
on  the  Indian  steadily  improved,  so  that,  before  long, 
he  was  catching  everything  any  one  could  reasonably 
expect  him  to  hold.  Hodge  was  astonished. 

"How  the  dickens  do  you  do  it  ?"  he  asked.  "You 
have  a  way  of  making  a  man  do  his  best." 

Frank  smiled. 

"Few  men  do  their  best  unless  encouraged,"  he 
said;  "but  all  men  cannot  be  encouraged  in  the  same 
way." 

The  main  secret  of  Merriwell's  success  in  handling 
men  was  that  he  brought  out  the  very  best  that  was 
in  them.  Had  Bart  paused  to  think  about  this  he 
would  have  known  it  was  true,  for  Frank  had  devel 
oped  in  Hodge  all  the  best  qualities  of  the  latter. 

Frank  directed  Bart  to  fling  aside  his  bat  and  put 
on  his  big  catching-mitt.  Then  Merry  batted  to  both 
infield  and  outfield,  directing  the  throwing  of  each 
man.  The  throwing-practise  was  sharp  and  fairly 


262  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

good.  Hodge  overthrew  second  the  first  time  he 
sent  the  ball  down,  but  after  that  he  sent  the  ball 
straight  as  a  rifle-bullet. 

"Runner  on  first  and  second!"  called  Frank. 
"Double  play!" 

He  drove  the  ball  to  short,  and  Carson  picked  it 
up,  snapped  it  to  third,  upon  which  Ready  drove  it 
ito  second  in  beautiful  style. 

"Sure  double,"  said  Merriwell.  "Runner  on  first, 
one  man  out,  two  strikes  on  the  batter.  Double  'em 
up." 

Down  between  first  and  second  bounded  the  ball. 
Rattleton  went  out  for  it,  his  teeth  set,  and  took  it 
successfully.  Then,  he  wheeled  and  jerked  it  back 
to  second.  Carson  had  covered  second  when  he  saw 
Rattleton  start  after  the  ball,  and  he  took  the  throw. 
The  ball  did  not  linger  in  his  hands,  but  went  whis 
tling  to  first,  where  Browning  smothered  it. 

"No  mistake  about  that,"  asserted  Frank.  "The 
swiftest  runner  in  the  country  could  not  have  made 
first  on  that." 

It  was  amazing  how  those  fellows  improved  in  a 
short  time  under  Merriwell's  direction.  Frank  called 
them  in,  one  at  a  time,  to  get  batting-practise,  Hodge 
putting  on  cage  and  body-protector. 

"Come  out  here,  Dick,"  said  Frank.  *'I  want  you 
to  throw  some,  while  I  coach  the  batters." 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  263 

This  call  had  been  unexpected  by  the  boy,  and  he 
hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"That's  right,"  said  Browning,  who  was  the  first 
batter;  "give  us  something  easy." 

Immediately  Dick  left  the  bleachers  and  entered 
the  diamond,  his  eyes  flashing  and  his  lips  pressed 
together. 

"Don't  strike  him  out,  Dick,"  adjured  Merry,  as 
he  tossed  the  ball  to  the  lad.  "He'd  feel  bad  if  you 
did." 

"No  danger,"  grunted  Browning.  "The  outfield 
ers  better  move  back." 

£rank  went  up  behind  the  catcher,  announcing  that 
he  would  act  as  umpire  and  coach. 

Dick  Merriwell  had  tossed  aside  his  jacket  as  he 
entered  the  diamond.  His  shoulders  and  arms  were 
fairly  good  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  although  they  might 
have  been  developed  more. 

"Give  your  signals,"  called  the  boy  to  Bart. 

Frank  had  been  teaching  him  to  pitch  by  catcher's 
signals. 

"Oh,  you  won't  need  to  bother  about  that,"  said 
Browning. 

The  words  of  the  big  fellow  seemed  to  put  the  boy 
on  his  mettle.  Hodge  called  for  an  out,  and  Dick 
delivered  it  quickly.  Browning  was  not  looking  for 
a  curve,  and  he  swung  at  it. 


264  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

He  did  not  touch  it. 

"One  strike !"  laughed  Frank.  "At  least,  he  fooled 
you  once." 

"Why,  the  young  rascal  has  a  curve!"  exclaimed 
Bruce,  in  surprise.  "I  thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
game." 

"He  never  has." 

"Oh,  say " 

"It's  a  fact,  but  he  has  been  practising  some." 

"Oh,  well,  one  curve  is  pretty  good  for  a  boy  like 
him;  but  he'll  never  fool  me  with  it  again." 

Bart  called  for  an  in,  and  the  boy  nodded. 

Then  Dick  swung  out  with  all  the  speed  he  could 
command,  which  was  excellent  for  a  lad  of  his  age. 
The  ball  seemed  coming  straight  over,  and  Bruce 
fancied  it  must  be  a  straight  one  this  time.  He 
slashed  at  it  hard,  but  the  ball  took  a  sharp  in  shoot, 
and  he  fanned  again. 

"Is  it  possible!"  laughed  Frank.  "Now,  wouldn't 

it  be  awful  if  it  really  did  happen  that But  I 

won't  speak  of  it." 

"Confound  him!"  growled  the  big  Yale  graduate. 
"He  has  two  curves!  You  must  have  found  him  an 
apt  pupil,  Merriwell." 

"Not  at  first ;  but  he  is  coming  into  it  all  right." 

"I  should  guess  yes!     But  I  fancy  his  stock  of 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  265 

tricks  is  exhausted  now.  I'll  just  have  to  line  it 
out." 

Hodge  signaled  for  another  in,  but  Dick  shook  his 
head.  He  also  shook  his  head  on  being  given  a  signal 
for  an  out,  but  nodded  when  Bart  called  for  a  drop. 

Then  the  boy  threw  a  ball  that  seemed  a  very  pretty 
one  to  Bruce,  but  it  suddenly  dropped  toward  the 
ground,  just  when  the  big  fellow  swung  the  bat,  and 
he  missed  it  for  the  third  time. 

"Struck  him  out,  Dick!"  said  Frank,  smiling.  "I 
knew  you  could  do  it." 

"Struck  me  out,  by  thunder!"  rumbled  Bruce,  his 
face  crimson.  "Struck  out  by  a  kid  like  that!" 

He  seemed  to  be  greatly  cut  up  over  it,  but  Merry 
was  highly  satisfied. 

"He  struck  you  out,  for  one  reason,  because  you 
were  too  confident,  Browning,"  said  Frank.  "You 
thought  you  were  dead  sure  to  hit  a  little  chap  like 
that.  It  is  this  same  overconfidence  that  sometimes 
makes  a  good  batter  strike  out.  A  heady  pitcher 
often  gives  a  good  batter  the  impression  that  it  is 
easy  to  get  hits  off  him,  doing  it  for  the  very  purpose 
of  fooling  the  batter.  There  are  lots  of  tricks  in 
pitching  besides  throwing  curves.  Change  of  speed 
is  necessary.  Then  a  pitcher  may  often  fool  a  batter 
by  appearing  to  have  no  control  over  the  ball.  The 


266  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

batter  thinlcs  he  is  sure  of  getting  a  base  on  balls, 
and  he  waits,  throwing  away  his  chances." 

Then  Merry  directed  Dick  to  give  Bruce  some 
good  straight  ones,  instructing  the  big  fellow  to  swing 
to  meet  the  ball,  and  not  to  "kill  it" 

"It's  the  first  duty  of  every  batter  to  get  his  eye 
on  the  ball,"  said  Frank.  "If  he  stands  up  and  slashes 
away  with  all  his  strength,  he  seldom  succeeds  in 
this.  Slashing  is  what  spoils  many  good  men  who 
might  become  skilful  batters." 

Browning  had  a  reputation  as  a  "home-run  hitter," 
and  no  home-run  hitter  is  ever  a  sure  hitter.  It's  the 
man  who  meets  the  ball  cleverly  and  places  it  for 
singles  who  is  the  most  valuable.  Of  course,  there 
are  times  when  home-run  hitting  counts,  and  it  al 
ways  enthuses  the  spectators;  but  the  man  who  tries 
for  nothing  save  long  hits  does  not  obtain  the  best 
results. 

Coached  by  Frank,  Browning  met  the  ball  hand 
somely  several  times,  and  then  was  sent  out  to  his 
base,  Ready  being  called  in. 

"I  suppose  I'm  the  only  real  thing  that  never  fans," 
chirped  the  apple-cheeked  fellow. 

Frank  looked  at  Dick  and  nodded.  Bart  gave  his 
signals,  and  Jack  began  to  fan  at  once,  missing  the 
first  two. 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  267 

"Oh,  Laura!"  he  exclaimed.  "How  did  it  hap 
pen  ?"  But  I  always  do  that  to  fool  the  pitcher.  Then 
I  put  the  next  one  over  the  fence." 

The  next  one,  however,  was  a  high  in  shoot,  and 
he  was  completely  deceived,  as  Browning  had  been. 

"Look  here,  Richard,  my  son,"  said  Ready ;  "you're 
altogether  too  flip!  Is  this  the  way  you  treat  your 
trusting  friends?" 

The  boy  showed  his  teeth  in  a  smile  that  was  very 
attractive,  illuminating  his  entire  face.  That  face 
was  a  most  expressive  one,  betraying  his  suddenly 
shifting  emotions. 

"I'll  have  to  teach  him  to  work  the  batter  with  his 
looks,"  said  Frank.  "There  is  something  in  it.  A 
pitcher  who  looks  intensely  savage  sometimes  im 
presses  the  batter  as  dangerous.  The  pitcher  who 
wears  a  cool,  disdainful  smile  is  liable  to  provoke  the 
batter  so  that  he  cannot  locate  the  ball.  There  are 
all  sorts  of  tricks  in  this  business." 

Then  Frank  began  coaching  Jack  about  his  stri 
king,  causing  him  to  stand  up  and  step  straight  out 
toward  the  pitcher  with  one  foot  when  he  swung  at 
the  ball,  instead  of  swinging  the  foot  back  and  partly 
behind  him,  which  is  a  very  bad  fault,  as  it  weakens 
the  batter's  position  and  spoils  his  ability  to  drive 
out  sure  hits. 

0 

.When  a  shrewd  pitcher  finds  a  man  is  given  to 


268  The  Nine  at  Practise. 

stepping  back  or  pulling  away  from  the  plate,  lie  is 
pretty  sure  to  "keep  'em  in  close,"  which  will  drive 
the  batter  back  right  along. 

One  after  another  the  members  of  the  team  came 
in  and  took  their  turn  at  bat,  and  Merriwell's  in 
structions  were  obeyed  implicitly.  All  were  surprised 
by  the  skill  displayed  by  Dick,  and  it  was  the  univer 
sal  opinion  that  the  boy  had  the  making  of  a  pitcher 
in  him. 

Indeed,  Dick  had  accomplished  much  in  the  short 
time  he  had  been  at  it;  but  he  was  the  brother  of 
Frank  Merriwell,  and  the  same  sort  of  perseverance 
and  determination  dwelt  in  his  breast. 

When  Frank  was  satisfied  that  Dick  had  thrown 
enough,  he  took  the  lad  out  and  went  into  the  box 
himself. 

At  this  point,  before  Merry  had  delivered  a  ball, 
several  persons  entered  the  grounds  by  the  gate.  One 
seemed  to  be  an  old  man  with  gray  whiskers,  while 
two  of  the  others  were  Black  Elrich  and  the  man 
who  had  first  caught  the  big  dog  by  the  collar  in  the 
Hotel  Metropole. 

Elrich  was  at  the  head  of  the  party,  and  he  ad 
vanced  straight  toward  the  diamond.  As  he  drew 
near,  he  loudly  said: 

"So  this  is  your  team,   Merriwell?     I'm  glad   I 


The  Nine  at  Practise.  269 

found  you  here.  I've  brought  Dave  Morley,  manager 
of  the  Reds,  along.  This  is  Mr.  Morley." 

A  short,  stout,  thick-set  man  came  forward.  He 
had  a  smooth-shaven  face  of  the  bulldog  cast,  and 
he  was  smoking  a  black  cigar.  His  first  words  were : 

"Mr.  Merriwell,  I  see  you  are  a  squealer." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A     DESPERATE     ATTEMPT. 

The  man's  manner  was  quite  as  offensive  as  his 
•words,  but  Merry  looked  at  him  calmly,  betraying  no 
emotion,  as  he  asked: 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?' 

"Your  acceptance  of  my  challenge  was  a  squeal," 
declared  Morley. 

"How?" 

"My  challenge  was  to  play  for  a  purse  and  the  en 
tire  gate-money." 

"And  I  accepted,  stating  my  reasons  for  declining 
to  play  for  a  purse." 

"Which  was  a  squeal." 

"Which  was  nothing  of  the  sort !  I  have  not  started 
out  with  the  intention  of  running  this  ball-team  to 
make  money.  We  are  out  for  sport,  and  nothing 
else.  I  am  not  a  gambler,  and  I  take-  no  satisfaction 
in  playing  ball  for  purses." 

"Oh,  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  did  such  a  thing  in 
your  life?"  sneered  Morley. 

Merry  flushed. 

"It  makes  no  difference  what  I  have  done." 


A  Desperate  Attempt.  271 

"But  you  can't  deny  that  you  have  played  for 
purses." 

"Never  without  protest — never  unless  practically 
forced  to  do  so.  In  this  case,  I  refuse  to  be  forced. 
The  gate-money  should  be  sufficient  to  pay  well  the 
winning1  team." 

"My  team  is  run  under  heavy  expense,  and  there 
is  no  assurance  that  your  aggregation  of  amateurs 
iwill  prove  a  drawing  card." 

Hodge  was  at  Frank's  elbow,  scowling  like  a 
(thundercloud,  his  heart  filled  with  hot  anger  over  the 
insolent  words  of  the  man.  Bart's  fighting  blood  was 
being  stirred,  and  he  longed  to  give  Mr.  David  Mor- 
ley  just  what  he  deserved. 

"Then  you  have  the  privilege  of  declining  to  meet 
us,"  said  Frank.  ''That  will  settle  the  whole  matter 
in  short  order." 

"He  knows  we'll  draw !"  exclaimed  Hodge.  "Your 
name  alone,  Merriwell,  will  turn  out  a  crowd." 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  said  the  manager  of 
the  Reds.  "In  the  East,  Frank  Merriwell  may  be  re 
garded  as  something  of  a  wonder,  but  out  here  he  does 
not  count.  We  have  plenty  of  better  men." 

"I'll  bet  you "  began  Bart  hotly. 

"Ah!"  grunted  Morley;  "at  least  this  member  of 
your  team  is  not  adverse  to  making  a  little  gamble, 
Mr.  Merriwell/' 


272  A  Desperate  Attempt. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  him,"  said  Bart. 
"I'll  bet  you  ten  dollars  we  get  more  hits  off  your 
pitcher  than  you  do  off  Merriwell." 

"Ten  dollars!"  came  scornfully  from  the  manager 
of  the  Denver  team.  ''Why  don't  you  make  it  ten 
cents?  You're  putting  the  figures  too  high,  young 
man." 

His  words  and  manner  were  calculated  to  enrage 
Bart  still  more.  Frank's  fingers  fell  with  a  firm  grip 
on  the  arm  of  his  friend,  and  he  quietly  said : 

"I  do  not  think  we'll  do  any  betting  Over  the  game. 
If  you  wish  to  play  us  on  the  terms  stated  by  me  in 
my  acceptance  of  your  challenge,  well  and  good.  If 
you  do  not,  we'll  let  the  matter  drop." 

"It's  plain  enough,  Morley,"  put  in  Elrich,  "that 
the  young  chap  knows  which  side  his  bread  is  but 
tered  on." 

"He  must  think  me  a  mark  to  put  my  salaried 
team  against  his  collection  of  non-salaried  kids," 
sneered  the  baseball  man,  "unless  there  is  something 
more  than  glory  in  it.  It's  mighty  little  glory  we'd 
get  defeating  his  team." 

"That's  right!"  exclaimed  Bart;  "for  you'd  never 
defeat  it." 

"Then  we'll  have  to  call  the  game  off,"  said  Frank, 
remaining  perfectly  calm. 

"That's  a  shame!"  muttered  Berlin   Carson,  who 


A  Desperate  Attempt.  273 

had  heard  some  of  the  talk.  "I'm  a  Colorado  man, 
but  I  think  I  know  what  Merriwell's  team  can  do, 
and " 

''We  cuc-cuc-can  do  those  fellows,"  said  Gamp,  who 
also  was  aroused. 

"Why,  it  would  be  a  snap!"  chuckled  Jack  Ready. 
"All  we  wanted  the  game  for  was  to  get  a  little 
practise." 

"You're  a  lot  of  bluffers!"  roughly  declared  Mor- 
ley. 

"I  told  you  there  was  nothing  in  it,  Dave,"  said 
Elrich,  with  an  air  of  weariness.  "The  boys  have 
not  money  enough  to  put  up  a  purse." 

Then  Frank  felt  some  one  tugging  at  his  elbow, 
and  he  looked  round  to  see  Dick  there,  his  eyes  gleam 
ing  and  his  face  flushed  with  indignation. 

"Bet  him,  Frank!"  palpitated  the  lad.  "I  wouldn't 
stand  it  to  have  him  talk  that  way  to  me !  You  know 
father  was  dreadfully  rich,  and  all  his  money  was 
hft  to  us.  I'll  bet  every  cent  of  my  part  that  your 
team  can  beat  his!" 

"Ho !  ho !"  laughed  Morley.  "And  how  much  might 
your  part  be,  kid?" 

"Oh,  a  little  trifle  of  eight  or  ten  million  dollars, 
that's  all,"  said  Frank,  who  could  not  help  being  some 
what  nettled  by  the  insulting  manner  of  the  man.  "I 
think  it  would  be  quite  enough  to  accommodate  you, 


274  A  Desperate  Attempt 

in  case  it  was  staked  against  anything  you  could  raise 
at  twenty  to  one." 

It  was  not  often  Merriwell  said  anything  like  this, 
but  just  now  he  had  been  provoked  to  the  limit,  and 
he  could  not  refrain. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  the  kid  is  worth  eight  or 
ten  million  dollars,  do  you?"  asked  Elrich,  as  if  in 
credulous. 

"He  will  inherit  something  like  that  amount  when 
he  comes  of  age,"  answered  Merry,  as  he  carelessly 
toyed  with  the  ball  he  had  held  throughout  this  con 
versation. 

A  swift  look  passed  between  Elrich  and  the  man 
with  the  gray  whiskers,  who  stood  slightly  apart  from 
the  group. 

"And  you're  his  brother?"  Elrich  questioned  fur 
ther. 

"I  am,"  bowed  Merry. 

"Where  do  you  come  in?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  part  of  this  snug  little  fortune  do  you 
get?" 

"Really,  sir,  I  do  not  know  as  that  is  of  any  con 
cern  to  you.  Still,  it  is  no  secret  that  I,  also,  will 
inherit  a  similar  sum  when  he  comes  of  age." 

"When  he  does?  That's  odd.  YouVe  of  age  now. 
How  does  it  happen  that — --•" 


A  Desperate  Attempt.  275 

'I  decline  to  speak  of  this  matter  further,  sir,  as 


I- 


"You're  a  big  bluffer,  Merriwell.  I  do  not  take 
any  stock  in  your  romance  of  millions." 

"And  I  care  not  a  snap  whether  you  do  or  not." 

"If  you  had  so  much  money  at  your  command, 
you'd  not  hesitate  to  put  up  a  few  hundred  to  back 
your  ball-team — that  is,  if  you  really  believe  your 
team  capable  of  playing  ball." 

"I  have  reasons  for  not  gambling  in  any  way," 
said  Frank.  "I  do  not  expect  men  like  you  to  respect 
my  scruples,  so  all  this  talk  is  wasted." 

"Well,  we  can't  fool  with  you!"  angrily  sneered 
Morley.  "I'll  bet  you  five  hundred  dollars,  even 
money,  that  the  Denver  Reds  can  defeat  your  ball- 
team.  If  you  will  not  cover  the  money,  we'll  fool 
away  no  more  time." 

"If  he  will  not  cover  your  money,  I  reckon  I  will!" 
exclaimed  a  voice,  as  a  man,  who  had  approached 
without  attracting  notice,  pushed  into  the  excited 
group. 

"Father!"  exclaimed  Berlin  Carson. 

"Mr.  Carson?"  came  from  Merry's  lips. 

"That's  me!"  nodded  the  rancher,  extending  his 
hand  and  giving  Merry  a  hearty  grip.  "Forgot  to 
tell  Berlin  to  attend  to  one  little  piece  of  business  while 
in  the  city,  so  I  decided  to  follow  him.  Heard  over 


276  A  Desperate  Attempt. 

at  the  hotel  that  you  were  here,  Merriwell,  with  a 
ball-team.  They  told  me  where  to  find  you,  and  I 
came  right  out.  What  sort  of  a  game  of  talk  was 
this  man  giving  you?" 

"He  was  trying  to  force  me  into  wagering  money 
with  him  over  a  ball-game  to  which  he  has  challenged 
me.  He  is  the  manager  of  the  Denver  Reds." 

"Well,  I  don't  often  bet  against  a  home  team,  but 
I  know  you,  and  I've  seen  your  men  play  ball,  so,  if 
he  wants  to  plank  down  five  hundred,  I  judge  I  can 
accommodate  the  gentleman.  I  believe  I  have  that 
amount  of  money  about  my  clothes." 

"Then  you're  the  man  I'm  looking  for!"  exclaimed 
Morley.  "Mr.  Elrich  is  my  backer,  and  he  will  put 
up  the  money." 

"Who'll  hold  the  stakes?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Jordan  here  is  a  good  man  to " 

"I  allow  I  don't  know  anything  about  Mr.  Jordan, 
but  I  do  know  Charley  Cans,  down  at  the  Metropole, 
and  he'll  suit  me  to  a  T." 

"Cans  is  all  right,"  nodded  Elrich,  who  seemed 
eager  to  get  the  bet. 

"Then  I'll  meet  you  there  at  six  this  evening,  and 
we'll  put  up  the  dust,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  with  a  dis 
missing  wave  of  his  hand.  "Good  day  till  later." 

"Hurrah !"  cried  Dick,  flinging  his  hat  into  the  air. 
"That's  the  stuff!" 


A  Desperate  Attempt  277 

"Slang,  my  boy — slang!"  said  Ready,  severely. 
"You're  catching  on  altogether  too  quick.  I'm  afraid 
you  have  been  associating  with  bad  company  lately." 

"You're  a  regular  young  sport!"  said  Elrich,  with 
apparent  admiration,  his  words  being  intended  to  flat 
ter  the  boy. 

"Are  you  a  sport  ?"  asked  Dick 

"Well,  I  allow  I  have  some  sporting  blood  in  me." 

"Then  I'm  no  sport!"  the  lad  quickly  asserted.  "I 
don't  want  to  be  like  you." 

Elrich's  smile  turned  to  a  frown,  but  he  said : 

"You're  pretty  sharp  with  your  tongue,  but  you 
may  have  some  of  your  flipness  taken  out  of  you 
some  day.  All  the  same,  I  like  you,  and  I'll  give 
you  a  drive  back  to  the  hotel  in  my  private  carriage, 
if  you'll  go." 

"Hardly,"  said  Merry.  "He  can  have  all  the  drives 
he  likes  at  his  own  expense." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  said  the  gambler,  turning  awajj 
and  starting  to  talk  in  a  low  tone  to  Morley. 

Mr.  Carson  was  speaking  with  those  of  Frank's 
friends  whom  he  had  met  before.  Now  he  turned 
to  Merry  once  more. 

"I  reckon  I've  got  you  to  thank  for  getting  my 
boy  onto  the  Yale  ball-team,"  he  said.  "Berlin  said 
it  was  through  you  he  got  a  chance  to  show  what  he 
could  da" 


278  A  Desperate  Attempt. 

"It  was  because  I  knew  he  had  the  right  stuff  in 
him,"  asserted  Merriwell.  "I  presume  you'll  let  him 
play  with  us  against  the  Denvers?" 

"Sure  as  you're  shouting!  And  I'll  disown  him  if 
he  doesn't  put  up  a  good  game." 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  sudden  cry.  They 
turned  to  see  Dick  Merriwell,  caught  up  by  the  man 
with  the  gray  beard,  being  carried  swiftly  toward  the 
gate,  which  was  standing  open.  The  man  was  run 
ning,  holding  the  struggling  lad  under  his  arm. 

For  an  instant  every  one  seemed  paralyzed  with 
astonishment.  Then  Frank  Merriwell  sprang  out, 
his  arm  went  back,  and,  with  all  his  strength,  he 
threw  the  ball  in  his  hand. 

Straight  as  a  bullet  from  a  rifle  flew  the  ball,  and 
it  struck  the  running  man  fairly  on  the  back  of  the 
head,  knocking  him  forward  on  his  face. 

This  caused  him  to  drop  the  boy,  and,  quick  as 
thought,  Dick  scrambled  up  and  leaped,  like  a  young 
panther,  on  the  back  of  the  man. 

When  Merriwell  leaped  forward,  Black  Elrich  sud 
denly  stepped  into  his  way,  and  there  was  a  collision. 
Elrich  staggered  and  caught  hold  of  Merriwell's  arm, 
to  which  he  tried  to  cling. 

Instantly  Frank  beat  off  the  hand  of  the  man, 
sprang  round  him,  and  dashed  to  the  aid  of  Dick. 


A  Desperate  Attempt.  279 

But  the  man  had  flung  the  boy  off,  and  now  he  rose 
to  his  feet,  casting  one  quick  look  over  his  shoulder. 

A  surprising  thing  had  happened,  for  the  man  was 
beardless  now,  his  gray  whiskers  being  grasped  in  the 
ringers  of  the  plucky  lad.  Frank  saw  the  face  of 
the  man. 

"Mescal!"  he  cried. 

It  was  Mescal  and  again  he  had  made  a  desperate 
play  to  get  possession  of  Dick  Merriwell,  for  Frank 
was  confident  it  had  been  the  intention  of  the  fellow  to 
abduct  the  boy. 

Mescal  now  fled  like  a  deer  out  through  the  gate, 
sprang  into  the  carriage  standing  there,  tore  the  reins 
from  the  hands  of  the  driver,  snatched  out  the  whip, 
cut  the  horses,  and  was  carried  away  just  as  Frank 
came  up. 

For  a  moment  Merry  contemplated  pursuing  the 
desperado,  but  he  quickly  decided  that  it  would  be 
folly  to  make  the  attempt. 

Black  Elrich  came  rushing  out  through  the  gate, 
shouting : 

"Stop!  stop  there!  By  heavens!  he's  running  off 
with  my  team!" 

Frank  faced  the  gambler,  his  eyes  flashing. 

"The  job  failed,  Elrich,"  he  said  cuttingly.  "It 
was  a  daring  attempt,  and  rather  foolish,  I  think." 


280  A  Desperate  Attempt. 

"The  man  is  crazy!"  said  Black  Ben. 

"Crazy  to  make  a  play  for  ransom-money,"  said 
Merry.  "I  know  him,  and  I'll  see  that  the  police  of 
Denver  are  put  on  his  track.  If  he  is  caught,  he  may 
squeal  and  expose  his  pals.  In  that  case,  Mr.  Elrich, 
you  are  liable  to  feel  rather  uncomfortable." 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate " 

"My  words  are  plain.  I  saw  the  look  that  passed 
between  you  and  that  man  a  short  time  ago.  My 
eyes  are  pretty  wide  open." 

"Why,  I  don't  know  the  man.  He  came  along  to 
the  gate  as  we  were  entering,  and  walked  in  with 
us." 

"By  appointment?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!  I  tell  you  I  don't  know 
him.  And  anybody  who  knows  me  will  swear  that 
my  word  is  good." 

"In  a  matter  of  cards  or  other  gambling  it  may 
be.  But  I  wish  you  to  inform  Anton  Mescal  that  I 
shall  be  better  prepared  for  him  next  time.  The 
ball  that  brings  him  down  then  will  be  of  lead,  and 
not  a  common  baseball." 


CHAPTER    XXVU. 

A     DASTARDLY     TRICK. 

Frank  went  directly  from  the  ball-grounds  to  po 
lice  headquarters,  where  he  told  of  the  attempted  ab 
duction  of  Dick,  giving  a  full  description  of  Anton 
Mescal,  and  entering  complaint  against  the  man.  The 
police  fancied  Mescal  was  an  old  offender  under  an 
other  name,  and  promised  to  do  their  best  to  lay  hands 
on  him. 

When  Merry  reached  the  Hotel  Metropole  he  found 
that  something  had  happened.  Mr.  Carson  had  again 
encountered  Black  Elrich,  who  had  expressed  a  doubt 
concerning  his  sincerity  in  the  assertion  that  he  would 
back  Merry's  ball-team.  As  a  result,  Carson  had  de 
posited  the  money  at  once,  and  Elrich  had  covered  it, 
with  the  understanding  that  the  game  was  to  take 
place  within  two  days. 

"Two  days!"  exclaimed  Frank,  as  the  cattleman 
reached  this  point  in  his  report  of  what  had  taken 
place. 

"Yes,"  nodded  Carson.  "He  said  he  would  not 
object  if  you  wished  to  play  to-morrow,  but  would 
prefer  that  the  game  take  place  on  the  day  following." 


282  A  Dastardly  Trick. 

"And  you  put  the  money  up  under  such  conditions  ?** 

"I  did." 

"The  first  trick!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"He  knows  my  team  has  not  played  together  yefc 
this  summer,  and  has  not  obtained  much  practise. 
He  wished  to  get  the  game  before  we  could  put  our 
selves  in  the  best  condition." 

"Why,  he  led  me  to  believe  that  you  wished  to  play 
to-morrow,  but  that  he  wanted  another  day  for  ad 
vertising-purposes." 

"Which  was  his  way  of  working  the  trick.  Never 
mind,  Mr.  Carson ;  we'll  meet  him." 

"And  we'll  beat  him,"  put  in  Hodge. 

"In  that  case,  he  will  lose  a  good  round  sum  of 
money,"  said  the  cattleman. 

"Five  hundred  does  not  seem  much  to  a  man  like 
him,"  said  Bart. 

"But  five  hundred  is  far  from  being  all  he  will  lose. 
It's  the  smallest  part." 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Frank. 

"Why,  another  gambler  happened  to  be  present, 
and  he  seemed  to  know  something  about  you.  When 
I  had  covered  Elrich's  money,  this  other  man  asked 
me  if  I  was  dead  sure  that  the  fellow  who  was  going 
to  pitch  against  the  Reds  was  Frank  Merriwell,  of 
Yale.  I  told  him  I  was.  He  wanted  to  know  how  I 


A  Dastardly  Trick.  283 

was  sure.  I  explained  that  my  son  attended  Yale, 
and  would  play  with  Merriwell's  team.  Then  what  do 
you  suppose  happened?" 

"Go  on,"  urged  Merry. 

"This  man  turned  on  Elrich  and  offered  to  bet  all 
sorts  of  money  on  you,  Merriwell.  He  said  he  would 
bet  a  thousand  dollars  even  that  you  struck  out  no  less 
than  eighteen  men.  Elrich  took  him,  and  the  money 
went  up.  Then  he  offered  another  thousand  dollars 
even  that  the  Reds  would  not  get  more  than  five  hits 
off  you.  Elrich  took  that." 

"Whew!"  whistled  Frank,  while  Bart  Hodge  sim 
ply  said : 

"He'll  win," 

"When  the  second  bet  had  been  covered,  the  man 
offered  to  put  up  one  thousand  against  two  thousand 
that  the  Reds  did  not  score  at  all." 

"And  the  offer  was  taken  ?" 

"Yes." 

Bart  actually  laughed. 

"\Vhoever  he  is,  that  man  knows  you,  Merry." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Carson,  "he  offered  a  bet  of  two 
thousand  to  one  that  the  Reds  would  be  beaten,  and 
that  wager  was  taken." 

"Five  thousand  dollars  each!"  exclaimed  Frank. 
''That  is  big  money  on  a  ball-game." 


284  A  Dastardly  Trick. 

"Who  was  the  man?"  asked  Hodge.  "Didn't  you 
find  out,  Mr.  Carson?" 

"Of  course,  I  was  curious  to  know,  and  it  seemed 
that  he  was  no  stranger  to  Elrich.  They  had  met 
before,  and  Elrich  called  him  Lake." 

"Lake?"  said  Frank.  "I  do  not  think  I  have  a 
friend  by  that  name." 

"I  asked  Charley  Cans,  the  stakeholder,  about  him," 
said  the  cattleman,  "and  he  said  the  man  was  a  race 
track  gambler,  and  that  his  full  name  was  Justin 
Lake." 

"Justin  Lake  ?"  cried  both  Frank  and  Bart. 

"That  was  his  name,"  nodded  Mr.  Carson. 

"Well,  that  beats  anything,"  came  from  Hodge. 
"To  think  he'd  bet  on  you,  Frank!" 

Merry  laughed. 

"Perhaps  he  did  it  to  recoup,  for  he  has  lost  enough 
in  his  time  betting  against  me." 

"Then  you  know  him?"  questioned  Mr.  Carson. 

"I  should  say  so.  I  have  had  two  very  serious  en 
counters  with  the  fellow,  who  is  just  as  much  a  rascal 
as  Black  Elrich.  Last  year  he  plotted  against  Yale 
and  bet  money  on  her  defeat,  but  I  baffled  his  plots. 
Again  this  year  he  tried  the  trick,  carrying  me  out  to 
sea  on  his  steam-yacht,  where  he  originally  meant  to 
kave  me  in  an  open  boat,  so  that  I  would  not  be  on 


A  Dastardly  Trick.  285 

hand  at  the  New  London  boat-race.  But  once  more  I 
defated  him,  and  he  lost  a  large  amount  of  money." 

"Well,  he's  betting  on  you  this  time,  and  he  finally 
had  Elrich  at  a  stand,  for  he  proposed  several  other 
wagers,  which  the  man  would  not  accept.  He  also 
asked  me  if  Hodge  was  to  catch  in  the  game.  I  told 
him  so,  and,  finding  he  could  get  no  more  bets,  he 
politely  called  Elrich  a  mark.  He  declared  that,  with 
Hodge  catching,  there  was  no  possible  show  for  any 
team  outside  the  big  leagues  to  defeat  you.  Some 
reference  was  made  to  your  ball  called  the  double- 
shoot.  Elrich  sneered  and  laughed  at  it.  Lake  said 
you  could  throw  the  double-shoot,  but  that  there  was 
no  other  catcher,  save  Hodge,  who  could  hold  it  well." 

"Compliment  from  a  rascal !"  said  Bart.  "No  thanks 
for  it." 

"I  hate  to  help  Justin  Lake  to  make  a  winning," 
said  Frank;  "but  it  can't  be  helped  now.  There  is 
no  way  out  of  it." 

"But  I'll  agree  to  take  something  out  of  his  hide  in 
case  I  meet  him,"  Hodge  declared.  "I've  been  wanting 
to  get  my  hands  on  him  for  some  time." 

Lake,  however,  was  not  found  around  the  hotel. 

The  story  of  the  great  betting  on  the  ball-game 
that  was  to  take  place  within  two  days  spread  swiftly 
ihrough  the  city,  so  that  it  became  the  talk  in  sport- 
.rig  circles. 


a86  A  Dastardly  Trick. 

Frank  was  very  sorry  that  anything  of  the  sort 
had  happened,  but  still  his  conscience  was  clear,  as 
he  had  rigidly  refused  to  be  driven  into  wagering 
money  with  a  man  like  Elrich.  When  the  other 
members  of  Frank's  team  heard  about  it,  they  all  ex 
pressed  satisfaction. 

"Why,  it's  the  greatest  ad  we  could  have  had!" 
laughed  Jack  Ready.  "I'll  wager  my  loveliest  pair 
of  drop-stitch  hose  that  we  draw  the  biggest  crowd 
ever  seen  at  a  ball-game  in  this  city.  And  how  I 
will  surprise  the  populace.  La!  la!" 

"Jiminy!"  gurgled  Gamp.  "Th-th-th-things  are 
beginning  to  git  lively  right  off!" 

"Money!  money!"  sighed  Carker,  shaking  his  head 
dolefully.  "It  is  the  root  of  all  evil!  It  stirs  up  con 
tention  and  strife!  It  arouses  greed  and  envy!  Ah, 
will  the  day  ever  come  when  all  men  shall  be  equally 
rich  and  equally  poor?" 

"Lot  on  your  knife — I  mean  not  on  your  life !"  ex 
claimed  Rattleton  promptly. 

That  evening  Hodge  and  Ready  were  walking  along 
one  of  the  principal  streets  of  the  city  when  an  old 
woman  stopped  them  at  a  corner,  croaking : 

"Young  gentlemen,  I  can  tell  your  past  and  future. 
I  am  Gipsy  Mag,  the  seventh  daughter  of  a  seventh 
daughter.  Let  me  read  your  palms,  and  all  the  mys 
teries  of  your  lives  shall  be  revealed  to  you." 


A  Dastardly  Trick.  287 

"Tell  me,  pretty  maiden,  are  there  any  more  at 
home  like  you?"  warbled  Ready. 

"I  have  no  home/'  she  answered.  "My  home  is 
the  whole  world.  For  a  quarter  I  will  reveal  to  you 
many  things." 

"That's  cheap  enough,'*  nodded  Jack.  "Here  is 
your  fourth  part  of  an  honest  American  dollar.  Now, 
go  ahead  and  tell  me  lots  of  lovely  things." 

The  old  woman's  eyes  were  fastened  on  Bart. 

"Let  me  tell  his  fortune  first,"  she  urged. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Hodge.  "I  do  not  care 
for  it." 

"It's  a  mash,  old  man,"  chuckled  Ready.  "You've 
hit  her  hard,  my  boy.  If  you  don't  submit  to  her  de 
mands,  I'll  tell  the  gang  about  your  mash.  Put  up 
your  fin  and  let  the  fair  lady  read  your  palm.  Come 
on." 

He  playfully  grasped  Bart's  wrist  and  held  up  his 
hand  for  the  old  fortune-teller  to  examine. 

Not  wishing  to  appear  grouty,  Hodge  submitted. 

The  old  woman  firmly  grasped  the  back  of  Bart's 
hand,  over  which  she  bent,  mumbling  something.  Then 
of  a  sudden  she  poured  from  a  small  vial  something1 
upon  Hodge's  hand  that  immediately  began  to  smart 
and  burn  like  fire. 

Bart  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  anger, 


288  A  Dastardly  Trick. 

snatching  his  hand  away.  The  old  woman  flung  asidt 
the  vial. 

"It's  the  oil  of  success !"  she  cried.  "Hereafter  you 
will  succeed  in  everything  you  undertake." 

"It's  a  trick!"  exclaimed  Hodge  hoarsely.  "The 
stuff  burns." 

"That  will  stop  in  a  moment,"  laughed  the  gipsy. 
"It  will  do  you  good." 

"Grab  her,  Jack!"  exclaimed  Bart.  "She  has  done 
something  to  put  my  hand  out  of  commission." 

But  the  old  woman  turned  and  ran  with  surprising 
speed  through  a  doorway  and  disappeared  into  a  sa 
loon.  Ready  jumped  after  her,  but,  as  he  entered  the 
saloon  by  one  door,  he  saw  her  disappear  through  an 
other  that  led  onto  a  side  street.  He  rushed  after 
her,  but  she  had  vanished  when  he  reached  the  street. 

"Well,  by  the  powers !"  gasped  Jack.  "She's  van 
ished  like  a  witch !" 

When  he  returned  to  the  point  where  he  had  left 
Bart,  he  saw  the  latter  just  disappearing  into  a  drug 
store.  Jack  hurried  after.  As  he  entered,  he  heard 
Hodge  saying  to  the  druggist : 

"An  old  woman  threw  something  on  my  hand  that 
burns  like  fire.  I  believe  it  was  acid.  Give  me 
something  quick  to  relieve  me." 

The  druggist  sprang  to  obey,  after  taking  a  single 
look  at  Bart's  hand. 


A  Dastardly  Trick.  289 

"Vitriol,  or  something  like  it,"  declared  the  drug 
gist,  as  he  quickly  applied  to  the  hand  something 
to  soothe  it.  "But  it's  queer  she  threw  it  on  your 
hand.  Vitriol-throwers  usually  aim  at  the  face." 

Bart  saw  Jack  at  his  side. 

"Did  you  catch  her?"  he  eagerly  asked,  although 
it  was  plain  from  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he 
was  in  pain. 

"She  got  away,"  confessed  Ready  humbly.  "Hodge, 
I'm  to  blame  for  this!  I'm  a  chump — a  blundering 
chump !" 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  you "  began  Bart,  but 

he  suddenly  checked  himself,  controlling  the  impulse 
to  reproach  his  companion  for  what  had  happened. 

"I  know— I  know!"  muttered  Ready.  "Oh,  I'd 
like  to  kick  myself!  But  who  ever  thought  that  old 
hag  was  up  to  anything  of  the  kind?" 

"Why  did  she  do  it?"  asked  the  druggist,  as  he 
continued  to  apply  the  lotion  to  Bart's  hand. 

"That's  a  mystery,"  said  Ready. 

"No  mystery  at  all,"  said  Hodge,  at  once.  "It 
was  so  that  I  may  be  unable  to  catch  in  the  game 
against  the  Reds.  That  was  the  trick.  With  a  raw 
hand  like  this,  I'll  be  knocked  out.  And  I  know 
the  miserable  gambler  who  is  behind  the  whole  deal. 
His  name  is  Black  Elrich !" 


CHAPTER  XXVIJJ. 

ON   THE   FIELD. 

No  baseball-game  in  Denver  had  ever  turned  out 
a  larger  crowd.  The  story  of  the  betting  had  been 
told  by  the  newspapers,  and  that,  together  with  the 
fact  that  the  great  college  man,  Merriwell,  was  the 
manager,  captain,  and  pitcher  for  the  team  pitted 
against  the  Reds,  served  to  bring  the  people  swarm 
ing  to  the  ball-grounds. 

The  story  of  the  strange  injury  of  Bart  Hodge  had 
also  been  told  by  the  papers,  and  they  had  said  that 
Merriwell  could  not  do  his  best  in  the  box  without 
Hodge  for  a  catcher.  This  being  the  case,  the  majority 
of  the  public  felt  convinced  that  the  Denver  team  would 
win. 

Of  course,  the  papers  had  scouted  the  idea  that 
Bart's  hand  had  been  injured  to  keep  him  from  catch 
ing,  even  though  Hodge  himself  hotly  declared  that  as 
his  firm  belief.  Merriwell,  also,  believed  such  to  be 
the  case,  as  did  the  other  members  of  the  team. 

At  first  it  had  seemed  that  the  nine  was  disastrously 
crippled,  but  Hodge  had  said : 

"It's  my  left  hand.  In  her  haste,  the  old  hag  did 
not  stop  to  see  if  it  was  my  throwing-hand.  Had 


On  the  Field  291 

she  put  the  stuff  on  my  right  hand  it  would  have 
knocked  me  out.  Now,  I  am  going  to  catch." 

"But  you  can't  do  it !"  exclaimed  Rattleton. 

"I  will!"  grated  Hodge.  "I'll  catch,  if  it  takes  my 
life!" 

Frank  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  you  can't,"  he  confessed.  "The  doctor 
says  not." 

"Doctors  do  not  know  everything." 

"But  I'd  rather  lose  the  game,  and  Mr.  Carson  says 
he'd  rather  lose  his  money  than  have  you  permanently 
injure  your  hand." 

"I'll  not  injure  it  permanently.  The  catcher's  mitt 
will  protect  it,  and  I'll  be  behind  the  bat." 

Frank  admired  this  kind  of  grit,  but  he  feared  that 
Hodge  might  find  himself  seriously  handicapped  in 
the  game. 

When  the  afternoon  of  the  game  came,  Bart  got 
into  his  new  suit  with  the  others,  although  his  hand 
was  in  a  bandage. 

The  Reds  were  first  to  appear  on  the  field,  and  the 
admirers  of  Denver's  lively  independent  team  rose 
up  and  gave  them  a  warm  greeting.  They  went  out 
at  once  for  practise,  and  their  work  was  sharp,  snappy, 
and  professional. 

Just  as  the  regular  time  for  the  practise  of  the  home 
team  had  expired,  Merriwell  and  his  men  entered  the 


292  On  the  Field. 

field.  They  made  a  handsome  appearance  in  their  new 
suits,  with  a  large  white  M  on  the  bosom  of  every 
shirt,  and  the  spectators  generously  gave  them  a  hearty 
hand. 

" Where's  Merriwell?" 

"Where's  Hodge?" 

"That's  Hodge  with  the  bandage  on  his  band.* 

"Is  he  going  to  catch?" 

"He  says  he  will." 

"I  don't  believe  he  was  hurt  at  all.  It  was  a  trieS 
to  fool  the  Reds." 

"Can't  fool  them  that  way." 

"Merriwell  will  fool  them  with  his  double-shoot." 

"Double-shoot  be  jiggered!  No  man  ever  threw 
such  a  thing." 

"Wait  and  see." 

Such  was  the  talk  on  the  bleachers. 

"Take  the  field,"  said  Merry,  and  the  men  trotted 
out. 

Then  practise  began.  Two  of  the  Denver  men 
batted  the  balls  out,  while  Bart  and  Frank  made 
ready  to  do  some  warming  up  on  the  side. 

The  work  of  the  Reds  had  been  almost  flawless  in 
practise,  but  such  could  not  be  said  of  Merry's  team. 
They  showed  their  want  of  practise,  although  they 
went  after  everything  with  a  will.  Rattleton  had  not 
been  playing  ball  for  some  time,  and  he  was  not  used 


On  the  Field.  293 

to  the  ground  around  second,  which  caused  him  to 
make  two  bad  fumbles  of  hot  grounders. 

"He's  a  dead  one,"  declared  the  crowd. 

Out  in  left  field,  Swiftwing  misjudged  the  first  ball 
he  went  after  and  failed  to  touch  it  when  he  should 
have  done  so. 

"The  Indian  is  no  good,"  decided  the  bleachers. 

Browning  had  not  aroused  himself,  and  he  had  a 
supremely  weary  air  at  first. 

"First  base  is  too  lazy,"  said  the  spectators. 

In  this  manner  almost  the  entire  team  was  con 
demned. 

Bart  had  pulled  on  a  mitt  and  Frank  was  throwing 
him  some  easy  ones.  If  they  hurt  Bart's  hand,  he 
made  no  show  of  it;  but  Merry  would  be  compelled 
to  use  different  speed  than  that  in  a  game. 

Black  Elrich  and  Dan  Mahoney  were  sitting  on  the 
bleachers.  Mahoney  observed : 

"It's  a  cinch!" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Elrich. 

"No  need  to  have  gone  to  all  that  trouble  about 
the  catcher,"  muttered  Mahoney. 

"But  I  wanted  to  make  sure.  You  know  Lake 
said  he  is  the  only  man  who  can  hold  Merriwell." 

"You're  five  thousand  in,  with  the  five  hundred 
added." 


294  On  the  Field. 

"I  reckon.  But  what's  this?  There's  the  boy 
Mescal  was  after,  and  he's  got  a  companion.  Look 
at  them!  What  are  they  going  to  do?" 

Dick  Merriwell  and  Old  Joe  Crowfoot  were  ad 
vancing  toward  the  home  plate. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HITS  THAT  DID  NOT  COUNT. 

Frank  Merriwell  made  a  signal,  and  his  men  came 
trotting  in  from  the  field. 

But  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  were  on  the  strangely 
handsome  boy  and  the  wrinkled  old  Indian,  the  latter 
having  his  dirty  red  blanket  wrapped  about  his  shoul 
ders.  At  the  home  plate,  to  which  the  boy  seemed  to 
lead  the  Indian,  they  stopped. 

Some  boys  on  the  bleachers  began  to  whoop  like  a 
whole  pack  of  redskins.  Unheeding  everything,  Old 
Joe  slowly  walked  round  the  rubber  plate,  then  stopped, 
extended  his  hands  over  it  and  made  some  queer  signs, 
as  if  he  were  weaving  a  spell.  A  hush  had  fallen  on 
the  curious  crowd. 

Finally  the  aged  Indian  stooped  and  solemnly  placed 
the  flat  of  his  hand  upon  the  plate,  as  if  blessing  it. 
This  done,  he  turned,  and,  accompanied  by  the  boy, 
walked  toward  the  bench.  Again  the  urchins  began 
to  whoop,  and  the  crowd  laughed. 

The  umpire  appeared  and  advanced  onto  the  field. 
The  Reds,  of  course,  had  their  choice  of  innings,  and 
they  decided  to  go  to  bat  first 


296  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count. 

Merriwell's  men  were  bunched  about  their  leader, 
who  was  speaking  to  them  in  low  tones. 

"All  ready,"  called  the  umpire. 

Immediately,  the  Merries  turned  and  trotted  out 
onto  the  field  once  more,  while  the  first  batter  of  the 
home  team  picked  out  his  stick  and  advanced  toward 
the  plate. 

"Light  on  him  right  off  the  reel,"  said  Dave  Mor- 
!ey,  who  was  sitting  on  the  home  bench.  "Break  his 
heart  in  the  first  inning." 

Frank  was  in  the  box,  while  Bart  Hodge  adjusted 
his  mitt  behind  the  plate. 

The  batting-order  of  the  two  teams  is  here  given ; 

MERRIES.  REDS. 

Ready,  3b.  Jones,  ib. 

Carson,  ss.  Davis,    rf. 

Browning,  ilx  Croaker,   3b. 

Gamp,  cf.  Favor,  c. 

Hodge,  c.  Gresham,  ci 

Swiftwing,  If.  Arata,  If. 

Rattleton,  2b.  Sawyer,  ss. 

Carker,   rf.  Mahoney,  2b. 

Merriwell,  p.  Park,  p. 

"Play  ball !"  rang  out  the  voice  of  the  umpire. 

Merriwell  placed  his  foot  upon  the  pitcher's  plate 
and  prepared  to  deliver  the  ball.  Every  man  was 
ready. 

Frank  was  cautious  about  using  speed  at  first,  and 
be  tried  Jones  on  a  slow  drop. 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count.  297 

Crack!  The  bat  met  the  ball,  and  Jones  lifted  a 
pretty  single  just  over  the  infield,  prancing  down  to 
first  like  a  long-geared  race-horse,  while  the  crowd 
gave  a  shout  of  satisfaction. 

"The  very  first  one!"  laughed  Morley.  "Why,  I 
knew  it  was  a  snap !" 

"Mr.  Umpire,"  said  Frank  quietly,  "if  that  gentle 
man  is  going  to  make  remarks,  kindly  ask  him  to  leave 
the  players'  bench." 

"That's  right  Morley,"  said  the  umpire,  "you  will 
have  to  keep  still  while  you  are  on  the  bench." 

This  caused  the  crowd  to  howl  derisively,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  Merries  had  very  few  friends  pres 
ent. 

Davis  was  ready  to  strike,  and  Frank  gave  him  a 
wide  out  drop.  He  let  it  pass,  and  Jones  took  the  op 
portunity  to  hustle  for  second  in  an  attempt  to  steal. 

Hodge  took  the  ball,  did  not  swing,  but  seemed  to 
pull  his  hand  just  back  to  his  ear,  and  then  threw 
to  second.  It  was  a  quick,  easy  throw,  and  it  did  not 
seem  that  Bart  put  enough  force  into  it  to  send  the  ball 
down. 

"Slide !"  yelled  the  coacher. 

Jones  had  been  running  like  a  deer,  for  he  was 
the  best  base-stealer  on  the  team,  as  well  as  the  surest 
hitter.  Forward  he  flung  himself,  sliding  gracefully 
along  the  ground  with  his  hands  outstretched. 


298  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count. 

The  ball  came  into  Rattleton's  hands  about  two  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  Harry  had  it  on  the  runner 
when  Jones'  hands  were  yet  a  foot  from  the  bag. 

"Man  is  out!"  announced  the  umpire. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  crowd,  and  then  somebody  started 
the  clapping,  which  was  rather  generous. 

"Say,  that  catcher  can  throw !"  cried  a  man  on  the 
bleachers.  "Bet  you  don't  steal  many  bags  on  him  to 
day." 

The  first  man  was  out,  and  the  Reds  had  been  taught 
a  lesson  they  would  not  fail  to  profit  by.  They  had 
found  that  Hodge  was  a  beautiful  thrower,  so  that  it 
was  dangerous  to  try  to  steal. 

"Hard  luck,  old  man,"  said  several  of  the  players, 
as  Jones  came  in.  "But  he  got  you,  all  right." 

"And  I  thought  I  had  a  good  start,  too,"  said  Jones. 
"I'd  bet  my  shirt  I  had  that  bag." 

One  ball  had  been  called  on  Frank.  He  tried  a  high 
one  next  time,  and  another  ball  was  called. 

Then  Davis  fouled,  which  caused  the  umpire  to  call 
a  strike  on  him. 

"Put  another  in  the  same  place,"  invited  the  bat 
ter. 

Frank  seemed  to  accommodate  him,  and  Davis 
cracked  it  out,  driving  it  past  Carson,  who  did  not 
touch  it. 

Another  base-hit  had  been  made  off  Merry. 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count.  299 

"That's  two  of  the  five!"  exclaimed  Elrich,  in  satis 
faction.  "When  three  more  are  made  I'll  have  won 
one  thousand  dollars,  anyhow." 

Croaker  was  a  heavy  hitter.  Merry  suspected  it,  and 
he  tried  his  arts  to  pull  the  fellow,  but  three  balls  were, 
called. 

Davis  had  not  attempted  to  steal,  for  he  remem 
bered  the  fate  of  the  man  ahead  of  him,  and  Merry 
held  him  close  to  the  bag. 

It  seemed,  however,  that  Frank  was  certain  to  give 
the  next  batter  a  base  on  balls.  He  was  forced  to  put 
the  ball  over,  which  he  did. 

Mahoney,  the  captain  of  the  team,  had  advised  the 
batter  to  "play  the  game,"  which  prevented  him  from 
striking,  although  he  afterward  declared  that  the  ball 
came  sailing  over  the  plate  "as  big  as  a  house." 

A  strike  was  called.  Frank  calmly  put  another  in 
the  same  place,  and  it  was  another  strike. 

Croaker  gripped  his  bat.  The  coachers  warned 
Davis  to  run,  as  the  batter  would  be  out  on  the  third 
strike,  anyhow,  if  the  first  base  was  occupied. 

So,  as  soon  as  Merriwell  drew  back  his  arm,  Davis 
started  hard  for  second.  The  ball  was  a  swift  high 
one,  but  Croaker  met  it  and  drove  it  out  for  a  single 
that  landed  Davis  on  third. 

"Here  is  where  we  score  a  hundred!"  cried  the 


}oo  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count 

coachers.  "Oh,  say !  is  this  the  wonder  we  have  been 
hearing  about?" 

Hodge  called  Merry  in,  and  said  to  him,  in  a  low 
tone: 

"Speed  up!" 

"But "  said  Frank. 

"No  buts,"  said  Bart. 

"Your  hand." 

"I'll  hold  them." 

"All  right." 

Then  they  returned  to  their  places. 

"Down  on  the  first  one,"  was  the  advice  of  the 
coacher  near  first.  "With  Davis  on  third,  he'll  never 
throw  to  second." 

Frank  sent  in  a  swift  in  shoot,  having  compelled 
Croaker  to  keep  close  to  first.  Croaker,  however,  con 
fident  that  Bart  would  not  throw  to  second,  scudded 
for  the  bag. 

Hodge  seemed  to  throw  to  Merriwell,  and  Frank 
put  up  his  hands,  as  if  to  catch  the  ball,  which  had  been 
thrown  high. 

Seeing  Davis  had  not  started  from  third,  Frank  did 
not  bring  his  hands  together,  but  let  the  ball  pass  be 
tween  them  over  his  head.  The  ball  struck  the  ground 
about  ten  feet  from  second  and  bounded  straight  into 
Harry's  waiting  hands. 

The  runner  slid,  but  Harry  touched  him  out,  and 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count  301 

then  bent  the  ball  whistling  home,  for,  having  seen  the 
ball  go  over  Merry,  Davis  had  started  to  score. 

Davis  had  been  fooled  into  clinging  close  to  the 
base  too  long.  The  trick  had  worked  well,  for  Hodge 
had  thrown  the  ball  so  that  Merry  could  catch  it  in 
case  Davis  started,  but  with  sufficient  force  to  take  it 
to  second  on  a  long  bound,  if  Merry  saw  fit  to  let  it  go. 
Had  Davis  started,  Frank  would  have  caught  the  ball 
and  cut  him  off. 

Now,  although  Davis  ran  as  if  his  life  depended  on 
the  issue,  he  could  not  get  home  in  time,  and  Bart  was 
waiting  for  him  with  the  ball. 

"Out  second  and  home!"  cried  the  umpire. 

The  spectators  gasped,  for  they  had  been  treated  to 
a  clever  piece  of  work  that  showed  them  the  Merries 
knew  a  thing  or  two  about  baseball. 

Three  hits  had  been  made  by  the  first  three  men  at 
bat,  yet  the  side  had  been  retired  without  a  run, 
through  the  clever  work  of  Hodge,  Merriwell,  and 
Rattleton. 

The  Reds  were  disgusted  over  the  result,  but  Black 
Elrich  said : 

"They  can't  keep  that  up,  and  Merriwell  is  fruit  for 
the  Reds.  Every  man  can  hit  him.  Two  more  hits 
mean  a  cool  thousand  for  me,  and  there  are  eight  in 
nings  to  make  them  in." 

"They're  groing  to  get  twenty  off  him,"  said  Dan 


302  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count 

Mahoney.  "My  brother  Pete  is  the  worst  hitter  in 
the  bunch,  but  he  can  lace  that  fellow  all  over  the 
lot." 

On  the  bleachers  Old  Joe  Crowfoot  was  grimly 
smoking  his  pipe,  but  by  his  side  sat  an  excited  boy, 
,  whose  face  was  flushed  and  whose  eyes  shone. 

"They  didn't  get  a  run,  did  they,  Joe?"  asked  the 
boy  eagerly. 

"Ugh !"  grunted  the  Indian.  "Don't  know.  White 
man's  game.  Injun  don't  know  him." 

"But  they  did  hit  the  ball,"  said  Dick,  in  disap 
pointment.  "I  didn't  think  Frank  would  let  them 
do  that." 

"He  throw  um  ball  pretty  quick,"  said  Joe. 

"He's  afraid  to  do  his  best,  I'm  sure,"  said  Dick. 
"He's  afraid  Hodge  can't  catch  it." 

"Hodge  he  heap  big  catch,"  asserted  Crowfoot. 
"Not  afraid  of  stick  when  it  swing.  Him  good." 

"We  got  out  of  a  bad  hole  that  time,  fellows," 
said  Frank,  as  the  team  gathered  at  the  bench.  "If 
we  keep  on  playing  ball  like  that  we'll  win  this  game." 

"Those  fellows  will  know  better  than  to  chance 
such  takes — take  such  chances,"  said  Rattleton. 

"How  is  your  hand,  Bart?"  asked  Merry. 

"All  right,"  said  Hodge. 

Ready  had  chosen  a  bat. 

"I'm  going  to  drive  the  first  one  over  Old  Baldy," 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count.  303 

he  said,  with  a  motion  toward  the  distant  mountains. 
But  he  walked  up  to  the  plate  and  proceeded  to  strike 
out  on  the  first  three  balls  pitched. 

"Speed!"  he  said,  as  he  came  back  to  the  bench. 
"Whew!  That  fellow's  got  it!  They  didn't  look 
larger  than  peas  as  they  came  over." 

Carson  went  out  and  fouled  twice,  getting  strikes 
called  on  him.  Then  he  drove  a  short  one  to  the 
pitcher  and  was  thrown  out. 

"See  if  you  can't  start  the  ball  rolling,  Bruce,"  urged 
Merry. 

Browning,  however,  did  not  seem  much  more  than 
half-awake,  and  he,  too,  fell  before  the  speed  and 
sharp  curves  of  Park,  making  the  third  man. 

Favor  took  his  place  at  the  plate,  and  Merry  faced 
him  in  the  box.  Frank  gave  the  fellow  a  high  one 
to  start  with,  but  Favor  was  confident  and  hit  it  safely 
past  Ready. 

"Four  hits!"  counted  Elrich  exultantly.  "One 
more  gives  me  a  thousand." 

Before  the  ball  could  be  fielded  in  Favor  had  reached 
second  and  was  safe. 

""Everybody  hits  him  I"  shouted  a  voice  from  the 
bleachers.  "Is  this  the  great  Frank  Merriwell?" 

lears  of  rage  came  into  Dick  Merriwelt's  eyes,  and 
his  hands  were  tighty  clenched. 


304  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count. 

"Why  doesn't  he  use  the  double-shoot?"  panted  the 
boy.  "He  hasn't  tried  it  once." 

Frank  was  as  calm  as  ever.  Gresham,  a  stout,  solid- 
looking  chap,  grinned  tauntingly  as  he  took  his  place 
to  strike.  Frank  tried  to  pull  him,  but  two  balls  were 
called.  Then  Merry  put  one  over  the  corner,  and 
Gresham  batted  it  down  to  Ready. 

Jack  should  have  handled  the  ball,  but  he  did  nofc 
get  it  up  in  time  to  cut  Gresham  off  at  first.  Seeing 
he  was  too  late,  he  took  no  chances  of  a  wild  throw, 
and  did  not  throw  at  all. 

"Oh,  wow !  wow !"  roared  the  crowd.  "All  to  pieces ! 
How  easy!  how  easy!" 

Hodge  was  looking  black  as  a  thunder-cloud.  The 
game  was  not  pleasing  him  at  all.  Was  it  possible 
Frank  has  lost  some  of  his  skill? 

Arata,  a  stocky  young  Indian,  advanced  to  the 
plate.  He  showed  his  teeth  to  Merry,  who  gave  him 
a  pretty  one  on  the  outside  corner. 

Arata  smashed  it  hard,  driving  it  on  a  line  over 
Frank's  head. 

Like  a  flash  Merriwell  shot  into  the  air  and  pulled 
down  the  ball  with  one  hand.  Like  a  flash  he  whirled 
round  and  threw  to  Rattleton. 

As  the  bat  met  the  ball,  both  Favor  and  Gresham 
had  started  to  run.  They  did  not  realize  Merry  had 
caught  the  ball  until  Frank  threw  to  second. 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count.  305 

Rattleton  took  the  throw,  touched  the  bag  and  drove 
the  ball  whistling  to  first. 

Gresham  had  stopped  and  was  trying  to  scramble 
back  to  first,  but  the  ball  got  there  ahead  of  him,  be 
ing  smothered  in  Browning's  mitt. 

"Batter  out!"  announced  the  umpire.  "Out  second 
and  first !" 

It  was  a  triple  play ! 

Dick  Merriwell  flung  his  hat  into  the  air,  giving 
a  shrill  yell  of  joy.  The  yell  was  taken  up  by  the 
crowd,  for  this  was  the  sort  of  ball-playing  to  delight 
the  cranks. 

The  Merries  were  fast  winning  friends. 

The  shout  of  applause  having  subsided,  somebody 
cried : 

"Why,  you  fellows  don't  need  a  pitcher!  You  can 
play  the  game  with  any  kind  of  a  man  in  the  box !" 

Mahoney,  the  captain  of  the  Reds,  was  sore,  but 
he  told  his  men  that  it  would  not  happen  again  in  a 
thousand  years. 

Gamp  was  the  first  hitter  of  the  Merries,  and  the 
long  youth  from  New  Hampshire  drove  the  ball  out 
to  Gresham,  who  made  a  very  pretty  catch. 

Hodge  hit  savagely,  but  his  temper  was  not  right 
to  connect  with  Park's  curves,  and  he  fanned. 

Then  came  Swiftwing.    Again  the  collection  of  boys 


306  Hits  that  Did  Not  Count. 

whooped  like  a  lot  of  Indians  from  the  bleachers.  The 
Indian  put  up  an  infield  fly,  and  was  out. 

"Give  us  the  double-shoot  at  your  best  speed,  Merri- 
well,"  said  Hodge,  in  a  low  tone.  "Just  show  these 
chumps  you  can  pitch  a  little." 

"All  right,"  nodded  Frank;  "if  you  can  handle  it 
with  that  hand,  you  shall  have  it." 

"Don't  worry  about  me,"  said  Bart. 

"Now,"  said  Dan  Mahoney,  "you'll  see  my  brother 
get  a  hit." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Elrich,  "for  it  wins  the  first  thou 
sand  for  me," 

Mahoney  came  to  the  plate.  He  had  seen  others 
hitting  Frank,  and  he  felt  fully  confident  he  could  do 
so.  Merry  gave  him  a  swift  double-shoot  to  start  with, 
and  he  fanned,  gasped,  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked 
ama2ed. 

"Do  that  again,"  he  invited. 

Merry  did,  and  again  he  fanned. 

The  third  one  was  a  slow  drop  that  dragged  him, 
and  he  did  not  hit  it.  Frank  had  struck  out  his  first 
man. 

Park  was  not  much  of  a  hitter,  and  Merry  found 
him  easy,  striking  him  out  quite  as  easy  as  he  had 
Mahoney. 

"Those  are  the  weak  men !"  cried  somebody.  <rNow, 
let's  see  you  do  it  to  Jones." 


Hits  that  Did  Not  Count.  307 

Being  thus  invited,  Frank  sent  in  his  pretties^ 
double-shoot,  and  Jones  missed  the  first  one. 

"Hello!"  muttered  Jones,  as  he  gripped  the  bat. 
"That  was  a  queer  one.  If  I  didn't  know  better,  I 
should  say " 

He  did  not  mutter  what  he  should  say,  for  Frank 
was  ready  and  another  came  buzzing  past,  only  the 
curves  were  reversed. 

Again  Jones  bit  at  it  and  failed  to  connect. 

"Two  strikes!"  called  the  umpire. 

"Oh,  he's  doing  it  now!"  breathed  Dick  Merriwelf, 
in  delight. 

Every  ball  hurt  Bart's  hand,  but  he  held  them  all 
and  showed  no  sign  of  pain. 

Jones  was  mad  and  surprised,  which  made  him 
easy  for  the  third  double-shoot,  and  he,  like  the  two 
before  him,  struck  out. 

Not  one  of  the  three  men  had  even  fouled  the  ball. 

"Well,  welli"  roared  a  spectator.     "It  seems  that 
you've  got  a  pitcher  there,  after  all!" 
.    "Thanks,   most   astute  sir/'   chirped   Ready,    doff 
ing  his  cap  and  bowing.     "He  hasnt  begun  to  pitch 
yet.    He's  just  getting  wanned  up.'* 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

ONE    TO     NOTHING. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  inning,  and  neither 
side  had  scored.  Never  before  had  there  been  such 
an  exciting  game  in  the  city  of  Denver.  The  crowd 
was  throbbing,  and  Merriwell's  team  had  won  a  host 
of  friends  by  its  clever  work.  Since  the  second  inning, 
however,  Frank  had  given  his  men  no  chance  to  show 
what  they  could  do,  for  he  had  struck  out  man  after 
man,  just  as  fast  as  they  came  up.  Never  in  all  his 
life  had  he  been  in  better  form,  and  his  work  was 
something  to  amaze  his  most  intimate  friends. 

Bart  Hodge,  with  his  arm  paining  him  from  the 
tip  of  his  fingers  to  the  shoulder,  looked  very  well 
satisfied. 

Dick  Merriwell  was  wild  with  delight  and  admira 
tion.  He  heard  the  crowd  wondering  at  the  work 
of  Frank  and  cheering  at  it,  and  it  warmed  his  heart 
toward  the  brother  he  had  once  thought  he  hated. 

"Oh,  Joe!"  he  panted,  "did  you  ever  see  anything 
like  it?" 

"Ugh!  No  see  before,"  answered  Crowfoot,  still 
gmoking. 

"Isn't  it  fine?" 


One  to  Nothing.  309 

"Heap  big  noise.  Ev'rybody  yell  lot;  nobody  get 
killed  yet." 

Three  times  had  Merriwell's  men  reached  third, 
but,  by  sharp  work,  the  home  team  had  kept  them 
from  scoring.  Now,  however,  Morley  was  desperate, 
and  he  went  among  the  men,  urging -them  to  win  the 
game. 

"You  must  win  it!"  he  said.  "Elrich  loses  five 
thousand  and  five  hundred  dollars  if  you  don't.  He 
won't  back  the  team  another  day.  We'll  have  to  dis 
band." 

"We'd  win  if  we  could  hit  that  devil  in  the  box," 
said  Mahoney  bitterly.  "He's  the  worst  man  we 
ever  went  up  against,  and  we  all  know  it  now.  You'll 
never  hear  me  tell  anybody  after  this  that  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  double-shoot.  Why,  that  fellow  can 
throw  regular  corkscrew  curves !" 

Morley  swore. 

"You're  quitting!"  he  growled. 

"Did  you  ever  know  me  to  quit?"  asked  Mahoney 
angrily. 

"No,  but " 

"Then  don't  talk!  They  have  not  scored,  and  we 
may  be  able  to  make  this  a  draw  game,  if  we  can't 
get  in  a  run." 

Black  Elrich  was  worried,  although  his  face  looked 
perfectly  calm,  with  the  strained  expression  of  the 


3io  One  to  Nothing. 

gambler  who  is  unchangeable  before  victory  or  defeat. 
At  his  side,  Dan  Mahoney  was  seething. 

"Hang  it!"  he  grated.  "If  it  had  only  been  that 
catcher's  right  hand!  The  woman  made  a  terrible 
blunder!" 

"No  one  would  have  thought  him  able  to  catch, 
anyhow,"  said  Elrich. 

"The  big  mitt  protects  his  hand." 

"Still,  it  must  hurt  him  every  time  the  ball  strikes, 
for  Merriwell  has  been  using  all  kinds  of  speed." 

Morley  came  up  to  the  place  where  he  knew  Elrich 
was  sitting. 

"What  do  you  think?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 
"The  boys  can't  hit  Merriwell,  and  it's  too  late  to  try 
to  buy  Harris,  the  umpire,  now.  Can't  you  start  a 
riot  and  break  up  the  game?" 

"If  you  start  it,  it  is  worth  a  hundred  dollars  to 
you,"  said  Elrich,  "even  though  that  will  throw  all 
bets  off,  and  I'll  make  nothing.  What  say?" 

"I  can't!"  muttered  Morley.  "If  I  did  so,  Harris 
would  give  the  game  to  the  other  side,  and  you'd 
lose  just  the  same.  If  the  spectators  start  it,  it  will 
be  all  right." 

"The  spectators  won't,"  said  the  gambler.     "More 
than  three-fourths  of  them  are  Merriwell  men  now." 
"Then,"  said  Morley,  "I  am  afraid  for  the  result." 


One  to  Nothing.  311 

Well  might  he  be  afraid.  In  the  last  inning1  Frank 
was  just  as  effective  as  ever,  and  the  batters  fell  be 
fore  him  in  a  way  that  was  perfectly  heart-breaking 
to  the  admirers  of  the  home  team.  Denver  was  unable 
to  score  in  the  ninth. 

"We  must  shut  them  out  again,  boys,"  said  Ma- 
honey,  as  his  men  took  the  field. 

But  Merri well's  team  went  after  that  game  in  their 
half  of  the  ninth.  Carker  was  the  first  man  up.  He 
had  not  been  hitting,  and  Park  considered  him  easy. 
That  was  when  Park  made  a  mistake,  for  Greg  set 
his  teeth  and  laced  out  the  first  ball  in  a  most  terrific 
manner. 

It  was  a  clean  two-bagger.  But  Carker  tried  to 
make  it  three,  encouraged  by  Ready  on  the  coaching- 
line.  Ready  believed  in  taking  desperate  chances  to 
score,  and  he  waved  for  Greg  to  come  on. 

The  crowd  was  standing  again,  shouting  wildly  as 
Carker  tore  across  second  and  started  on  a  mad  sprint 
to  third. 

The  center-fielder  got  the  ball  and  threw  it  to  Ma- 
honey  at  second.  Mahoney  whirled  and  shot  it  to 
third. 

"Slide!"  shrieked  Ready. 

Greg  heard  the  command  and  obeyed,  but  Croaker 
took  the  ball  and  touched  him  easily. 

"Runner  out!"  decided  the  umpire  clearly. 


One  to  Nothing. 

Then  there  was  another  roar  from  the  bleachers. 
Jack  Ready  fiercely  doubled  his  fist  and  thumped 
himself  behind  the  ear. 

"All  my  fault!"  he  moaned.     "I  did  it!" 
Carker  looked  sorrowful. 

"My  last  game  of  baseball,"  he  said  sadly.  "I  do 
not  care  to  play  the  game  any  more.  It  is  a  decep 
tion  and  a  humiliation.  No  more!  No  more !" 

Merriwell  was  the  next  batter.  Park  knew  Merry 
was  a  good  hitter,  and  he  was  cautious.  Frank  did 
his  best  to  work  the  pitcher  for  a  base  on  balls,  but, 
with  two  strikes  called  on  him,  he  was  finally  forced 
to  hit. 

He  did  so  sharply,  sending  the  ball  shooting  along 
the  ground  between  third  and  short. 

Frank  crossed  first  and  turned  to  the  left,  knowing 
it  was  best  to  have  all  the  start  he  could  if  there  was 
any  show  of  making  second. 

"Go  on!"  roared  Browning,  who  had  reached  the 
coaching-line  at  first,  Ready,  having  come  in  from 
near  third. 

Then  Frank  ran  at  his  best  speed.  He  knew  it 
would  be  close,  and  he  flung  himself  forward  for  a 
slide  at  second,  which  enabled  him  to  reach  the  base 
safely  a  moment  ahead  of  the  ball.  By  fast  running, 
he  had  made  a  two-bagger  out  of  an  ordinary  single. 


One  to  Nothing.  313 

Everybody  knew  now  that  Merriwell's  team  was 
out  for  the  game  in  that  inning  if  there  was  any  pos 
sible  way  to  capture  it.  Such  work  turned  the  fans 
into  howling  maniacs. 

For  once  in  his  life,  Jack  Ready  looked  grave  when 
he  took  his  place  to  strike.  He  realized  the  responsi 
bility  on  him,  and  it  had  driven  the  smile  from  his 
ruddy  face. 

Park  was  pitching  at  his  best,  and  he  did  not  let  up 
a  bit.  Ready  made  two  fouls,  after  which  he  put  up 
a  high  infield  fly,  which  dropped  and  remained  in  the 
hands  of  Croaker.  Two  men  were  out,  and  the  ad 
mirers  of  the  home  team  began  to  breathe  easier. 

Merriwell  was  taking  all  the  start  he  could  get  from 
second  when  Carson  got  ready  to  hit. 

Park  seemed  to  feel  absolutely  sure  of  retiring  the 
side  without  further  trouble,  and  he  did  get  two 
strikes  on  Berlin.  Then  something  happened,  for 
the  cattleman's  son  did  a  thing  to  delight  the  heart  of 
his  father.  He  made  a  beautiful  safe  hit  to  right 
field  and  won  the  game. 

Merriwell  was  running  when  the  ball  and  bat  met. 
He  knew  it  was  not  a  high  fly,  and  instinct  told  him 
the  fielder  could  not  catch  it.  As  he  came  toward 
third,  Hodge  was  on  the  coaching-line,  madly  motion 
ing  for  him  to  go  in. 

Frank  obeyed.     The  fielder  threw  from  right  to 


314  One  to  Nothing. 

cut  him  off  at  the  plate,  but,  by  another  splendid  slide, 
he  scored. 

JThe  game  was  over. 


In  the  newspaper  accounts  of  the  game  the  fol 
lowing  day  Merriwell's  team  was  highly  praised,  and 
the  reporters  took  pains  to  mention  that  it  was  the 
hit  of  Berlin  Carson,  a  Colorado  lad,  that  brought  in 
the  winning  run. 


THE  END. 


"BEST  OF  ALL  BOYS'  BOOKS" 
THE  FAMOUS 

Frank  Merriwell  Stories 

By  BURT  L.  STANDISH 

No  modern  series  of  tales  for  boys  and  youths  has 
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There  must  be  a  reason  for  this  and  there  is.  Frank 
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Merriwell's  example  is  a  shining  light  for  every  ambitious 
lad  to  follow. 

Twenty-four  volumes  ready 

Frank  Merriweil's  School  Days  Frank  Merriwell's  Skill 

Frank  Merriwell's  Chums  Frank  Merriwell's  Champions 

Frank  Merriwell's  Foes  Frank  Merriwell's  Return  to  Yale 

Frank  Merriwell's  Trip  West  Frank  Merriwell's  Secret 

Frank  Merriwell  Down  South  Frank  MerriwelFs  Loyalty 

Frank  Merriwell's  Bravery  Frank  Merriwell's  Reward 

Frank  Merriwell's  Races  Frank  Merriwell's  Faith 
Frank  MerriwelFs  Hunting  Tour  Frank  Merriwell's  Victories 

Frank  Merriwell's  Sports  Afield  Frank  Merriwell's  Power 

Frank  Merriwell  at  Yale  Frank  Merriwell's  Set-Back 

Frank  Merriwell's  Courage  Frank  Merriwell's  False  Friend 

Frank  Merriwell's  Daring  Frank  Merriwell's  Brother 

Illustrated,  cloth  binding,  6O  cents  per  volume 

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THE  MOTOR  POWER  SERIES 

Donald  Grayson's  Famous 
Motor  Stories  for  Boys  & 

Mr.  Grayson  is  an  accomplished  writer  of  up-to-the- 
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In  his  new  series,  his  characters  have  exciting  adven- 
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Now  Ready 

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BOB  STEELE'S  SUBMARINE  CR*UISE 

BOB  STEELE  IN  STRANGE  WATERS 

BOB  STEELE'S  MOTOR  BOAT 

BOB  STEELE'S  WINNING  RACE 

BOB  STEELE'S  NEW  AEROPLANE 

BOB  STEELE'S  LAST  FLIGHT 

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BOYS  OF  LIBERTY  LIBRARY 

NEW  SERIES  of  splendid  tales  of  the  wonderful  and 
stirring  adventures  of  boys  who  fought  in  The  Revolu 
tionary  War,  The  French  and  Indian  Wars,  and  Naval 
Battles  of  1812. 
The  stories  are  written  in  an  intensely  interesting  style,  and  no 

boy  can  read  them  without  being  aroused  to  the  highest  pitch  of 

patriotic  enthusiasm. 

We  give  herewith  a  list  of  titles  now  ready.     Read  the  first  and 

you  will  want  to  read  all  the  others.     I2mo.     Cloth,  handsomely 

bound. 

PAUL  REVERE.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  FIRST  SHOT  FOR  LIBERTY.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

FOOLING  THE  ENEMY.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

INTO  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  HERO  OF  TICONDEROGA.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

ON  TO  QUEBEC.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

FIGHTING  HAL.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

MARION  AND  HIS  MEN.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  YOUNG  AMBASSADOR.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  YOUNG  GUARDSMAN.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  LIVELY  BEE.    By  John  De  Morgan. 

THE  TORY  PLOT.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

IN  BUFF  AND  BLUE.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

•WASHINGTON'S  YOUNG  SPY.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

UNDER  GREENE'S  BANNER.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

FOR  FREEDOM'S  CAUSE.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

CAPTAIN  OF  THE  MINUTE  MEN.    By  Harrie  Irving  Hancock. 

THE  QUAKER  SPY.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

FIGHTING  FOR  FREEDOM.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

BY  ORDER  OF  THE  COLONEL.    By  Lieut.  Lounsb«rry. 

A  CALL  TO  DUTY.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

IN  GLORY'S  VAN.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

THE  TRADER'S  CAPTIVE.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

THE  YOUNG  PATRIOT.    By  Lieut.  Lounsberry. 

"  OLD  PUT  "  THE  PATRIOT.    By  Frederick  A.  Ober. 

THE  LEAGUE  OF  FIVE.    By  Commander  Post. 

THE  KING'S  MESSENGER.    By  Capt.  Frank  Ralph. 

DASHING  PAUL  JONES.    By  Frank  Sheridan. 

FROM  MIDSHIPMAN  TO  COMMODORE.    By  Frank  Sheridan. 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  ESSEX.    By  Frank  Sheridan. 

LAND  HERO  OF  1812.    By  C.  C.  Hotchkiss. 

FOLLOWING  MAD  ANTHONY.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

THE  YOUNG  CAPTAINS.    By  T.  C.  Harbaugh. 

CAMPAIGNING  WITH  BRADDOCK.    By  'William  Murray  Graydon. 

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THE  ROB  RANGER  SERIES 

By  LIEUT.  LIONEL  LOUNSBERRY 

A  capital  series  showing  what  can  be  accomplished  by  a  boy  of  ability  and  courage. 
Rob  ii  a  hero  whose  example  of  courage,  hoaesty  aud  manliness  can  be  followed  with 
profit.  Rob's  horse,  Silent  Sam,  and  bis  dog  Trumps,  play  an  important  part  in  the 
series,  and  cannot  fail  to  win  admiration  and  affection.  No  better  stories  for  bright 
healthy  boys  could  well  be  imagined. 

ROB   RANGER'S   MINE,  or  THE   BOY  WHO   GOT  THERE.     By  Lieut. 
Lionel  Lounsberry. 

ROB  RANGER   THE  YOUNG   RANCHMAN,  or  GOING   IT  ALONE   AT 

LOST  RIVER.     By  Lieut.  Lionel  Lounsberry. 
ROB  RANGER'S  COWBOY  DAYS,  or  THE  YOUNG  HUNTER  OF  THE 

BIG  HORN.     By  Lieut.  Lionel  Lounsberry. 

Price,  5O  cents  per  volume 

THE  CIRCUS  SERIES 

BY 
STANLEY  MORRIS  VICTOR  ST.  CLAIR 

Where  is  there  a  boy  who  does  not  love  a  circus  and  who  does  not  also  love  to  take 
a  p«ep  "  behind  the  scenes"  of  the  great  white  canvas  ?  There  are  adventures  galore, 
enough  to  satisfy  any  healthy  youngster. 

PHIL   THE    SHOWMAN,    or    LIFE    IN    THE    SAWDUST    RING.     By 

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YOUNG  SHOWMAN'S  RIVALS,  or  UPS  AND  DOWNS  OF  THE  ROAD. 

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YOUNG  SHOWMAN'S    PLUCK,  or  AN  UNKNOWN    RIDER   IN   THE 

RING.    By  Stanley  Norris. 
YOUNG  SHOWMAN'S  TRIUMPH,  or  A  GRAND  TOUR  ON  THE  ROAD. 

By  Stanley  Norris. 
ZIG-ZAG,  THE   BOY  CONJURER,  or  LIFE  ON  AND  OFF  THE  STAGE. 

By  Victor  St.  Clair. 
ZIP,  THE  ACROBAT,  or  THE  OLD  SHOWMAN'S  SECRET.    By  Victor 

St.  Clair. 

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THE  MATTHEW  WHITE  SERIES 

These  books  are  full  of  good,  clean  adventure,  thrilling  enough  to  please  th«  full- 
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ADVENTURES  OF  A  YOUNG  ATHLETE.— A  «lory  of  how  a  boy  saved  his 

father's  name  and  fortune. 

ERIC  DANE. — Interesting  experiences  of  a  boy  of  mea*s. 
GUY  HAMMERSLEY.— How  an  energetic  boy  cleared  his  name. 
MY  MYSTERIOUS   FORTUNE.— An   extremely  interesting  story  of  a  f»oo,ooo 

check. 
THE  TOUR  OF  A  PRIVATE  CAR.— Interestiaj  experiences  of  a  yoang  private 

secretary. 
THE  YOUNG  EDITOR. — Experiences  of  a  bright  boy  editing  a  weekly  paper. 

Price,  5O  cents  per  volume 

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(4) 


The  Famous  Adventure  Series 

An  ideal  series  of  books  for  boys  of  all  ages.  The  stories 
are  of  the  bright  and  sparkling  kind,  full  of  adventures  on 
land  and  sea  and  not  over-burdened  with  lengthy  descriptions ; 
in  fact,  just  the  sort  that  must  appeal  to  every  healthy  boy 
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The  names  of  the  authors  give  sufficient  guarantee  to  their 
merits.  Among  these  may  be  mentioned  Henry  Harrison 
Lewis,  who  is  a  graduate  of  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis, 
and  has  written  a  great  many  books  for  boys. 

A  VOYAGE  TO  THE  GOLD  COAST.    By  Frank 
H.  Convene. 

An  adventurous  trip  of  New  England  boys  to  Africa. 

CAMP  IN  THE  SNOW.    By  Wm.  Murray  Graydon. 

Boys'  winter  camp  life  in  northern  New  England. 

CENTREBOARD  JIM.    By  Henry  Harrison  Lewis. 

The  secret  of  Sargasso  Sea. 

FROM  LAKE  TO  WILDERNESS.    By  Wm.  Murray 
Graydon. 

Adventures  around  the  northern  lakes. 

HOW  HE  WON.    By  Brooks  McCormick. 

Triumphs  of  a  plucky  boy  afloat  and  ashore. 

IN   SEARCH    OF   AN    UNKNOWN   RACE.     By 
Frank  H.  Converse. 

A  thrilling  story  of  exploration  in  Brazil. 

KING  OF  THE  ISLAND.    By  Henry  Harrison  Lewis. 

Strange  adventures  on  a  South  Sea  Island. 

TOM  HAVEN  WITH  THE  WHITE  SQUADRON. 
By  Lieut.  James  K.  Orton. 

The  adventures  of  a  young  inventor  of     submarine  boat. 

Illustrated,  cloth  binding,  5O  cents  per  volume 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publisher 

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(5) 


THE  ANNAPOLIS  SERIES 

By  ENSIGN  CLARKE  FITCH,  U.  S.  N. 

A  graduate  of  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  and 
thoroughly  familiar  with  all  naval  matters  Mr.  Fitch  has 
devoted  himself  to  literature,  and  has  written  a  series  of 
books  for  boys  that  every  young  American  should  read.  His 
stories  are  full  of  interesting  information  about  the  navy, 
training  ships,  etc. 

BOUND  FOR  ANNAPOLIS,  or  The  Trials  of  a  Sailor  Boy. 
CLIP,  THE  NAVAL  CADET,  or  Exciting  Days  at  Annapolis. 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  TRAINING  SHIP,  or  Clif  Faraday's 
Pluck. 

FROM  PORT  TO  PORT,  or  Clif  Faraday  in  Many  Waters. 
A  STRANGE  CRUISE,  or  Clif  Faraday's  Yacht  Chase. 

Illustrated,  cloth  binding,  75  cents  per  volume 

THE  WEST  POINT  SERIES 

By  LIEUT.  FREDERICK  GARRISON,  U.  S.  A. 

Every  American  boy  takes  a  keen  interest  in  the  affairs  of 
West  Point.  No  more  capable  writer  on  this  popular  subject 
could  be  found  than  Lieut.  Garrison,  who  vividly  describes 
the  life,  adventures  and  unique  incidents  that  have  occurred 
in  that  great  institution — in  these  famous  West  Point  stories. 

OFF  FOR  WEST  POINT,  or  Mark  Mallory's  Struggle. 
A  CADET'S  HONOR,  or  Mark  Mallory's  Heroism. 
ON  GUARD,  or  Mark  Mallory's  Celebration. 

THE  WEST  POINT  TREASURE,  or  Mark  Mallory's  Strange 
Find. 

THE  WEST  POINT  RIVALS,  or  Mark  Mallory's  Strategem. 
Illustrated,  cloth  binding,  75  cents  per  volume 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price 
by  the  publisher 

DAVID  McKAY,  Philadelphia 

(6) 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


M0   *"» 

MM 


30m-7,'68(JlS95s4) — C-120 


A        f\  r\  '"" ""' 


